


Faults Enough (But Not of Understanding)

by Probably_Momo



Series: Born of Necessity [1]
Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Bumbleby - Freeform, Canon-Divergent Remnant, Emotional Trauma, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Learning to Trust/Learning to Love, Light Angst, PTSD, Past Abuse, Romance, Slice of Life, Smut, spicy switchy bees, these bees need therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:35:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 103,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27338785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Probably_Momo/pseuds/Probably_Momo
Summary: Sometimes the darkness she crossed an ocean and a continent to escape sneaks between the cracks and threatens to drag Blake down. Sometimes she feels like she’s speaking in a different language, or walks on a slightly different plane of existence from the people around her. Ilia says Blake is doing ok— but if she is, why is it so hard for her to talk to the beautiful girl who comes into the coffee shop? And why can’t she find a model for her final thesis portfolio?Yang clings fiercely to her public image, even the not-so-flattering parts of it. She does her best to ignore her sister and Pyrrha, who tell her that she deserves something more than just living day to day. The accident that marked the end of her old life and the start of the new left painful scars on her body and her heart. Maybe life is better if it’s simple.She’s about to find out that being friends (or something more) with a strange, cute barista is about as far from simple as she can get.When you get down to it, we all have our faults. It’s what you do with them that people remember.____________________________Yet another college AU. There might not be Grimm in this Remnant, but there are monsters....UPDATES on SUNDAYS
Relationships: Blake Belladonna/Yang Xiao Long
Series: Born of Necessity [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2186337
Comments: 301
Kudos: 297





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spoopsboops](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spoopsboops/gifts).



> CONTENT WARNING: Themes of PTSD and shitty parent/child relationships discussed, explored more explicitly in later chapters. Rated M, decidedly NSFW in later chapters. I will include warnings for NSFW chapters so that the reader can skip them if they prefer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RECOMMENDED LISTENING:  
> \- “Seeing Stars”, BøRNS  
> \- “Drive”, Pale Waves

Listen to the Spotify playlist (curated by the author’s wife, @spoopsboops) [HERE](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0NAkxw0y9KBjkbqX3Yum36?si=AqQwxVFKR_21jzXnwKOZLg).

Follow on [Tumblr](Probably_momo.tumblr.com) and Instagram @probably_momo, for art and writing updates.

_____________________________________________________________

“Four thirty in the morning is a fucking heinous time to be awake. Anyone who says otherwise is a mass murderer or a pod person.” Sun leaned heavily on the counter. With six shots of espresso in his morning mocha backing him up, Blake didn’t feel any need to debate the point with her sleep-deprived friend. 

She honestly liked the quiet pre-dawn hours, before the coffee shop filled with caffeine addicted undergrads and demanding soccer moms. The town around them was taking a deep breath before plunging into the chaos of the day. She gave her coworker a noncommittal shrug, jingling the keys and stepping to unlock the front door and move out the patio furniture. 

Sun had learned early on that chivalrously offering to take on this task would earn him no favors— Blake was perfectly capable of dealing with the heavy, awkward tables and big colorful umbrellas, and would verbally eviscerate anyone who implied otherwise. She enjoyed the physical activity early in the morning. It woke her up better than any shots of espresso, or even the cup of strong black tea that she usually had while they opened the shop.

When she was done setting up the patio she stood for a minute longer, breathing in the cold morning air and exhaling tiny clouds into the predawn light. The chill bit through the thin material of her sweater and her skinny jeans, running a shiver down her spine, but she couldn’t bring herself to go inside. Her heart was pumping and her body temperature was up from the physical exertion, so the cold was of secondary concern and she could simply enjoy the beauty of the morning. Somewhere a robin was singing in a joyful pandemonium of notes, and, over the tops of the still-leafless trees, rays of golden light were starting to break.

On the same side of the street as Blake stood, two blocks down, a runner turned the corner and started to head her way. Joggers weren’t unusual in this neighborhood, and a lot of the coffee shop’s early morning regulars took to the streets in tracksuits and sneakers. This runner was familiar, but only in so much as she came in for brewed coffee every couple of weeks and always got it to go. She had a remarkable head of golden hair that was pulled back into a messy ponytail, and this morning she was wearing the ugliest sweatshirt Blake had ever seen in her life. From a distance all she could see was the safety orange body with brown raglan sleeves and a graphic featuring some kind of cute cartoon dog with large neon green block font.The garment looked well loved, the sleeves pushed up to the elbows of well-muscled forearms. The anarchy of color made her teeth itch, especially when it was placed in contrast with the stunning woman who was wearing it. As the runner pulled level with her on the street Blake could make out a strong jawline, delicate nose that had probably been broken at least once before, graceful brows set in concentration, and— goodness, she could almost make out violet eyes? Looking at her in confusion and a little bit of worry? Why would she look at Blake like that?

Oh. OH. She was standing on a mostly residential street in the early morning hours, staring intensely at someone who was basically a stranger, probably wearing her typical resting bitch face. She fixed her features into something closer to a smile and gave a weak wave. The woman acknowledged her with a nod, not breaking her stride as she continued on down the block.

With one last glance at the offending sweatshirt (there was a cartoon dog butt printed on the back), Blake turned on her heel and went back inside, letting the door slam shut and latch behind her. She spent the rest of the time before they opened in the back running inventory, definitely not just in case a violet-eyed woman came by the window again.

______________________________________________________________

The line that stretched to the door was not unusual for a Thursday morning, and the pace was moving briskly when Neptune slouched in at 8:30. Feelin’ Perky was a friendly neighborhood coffee shop with a hip feel, right between Beacon Arts and Polytechnic University campus and one of the larger residential areas in Vale. Students loved it for the affordable drinks, free WiFi, and copious electrical outlets. Parents loved it because it was pretty much halfway between all of the schools in the area. Office workers loved that you could get your latte and your muffin and get out in under five minutes, as long as no one was throwing a fit at the front of the line.

Someone was throwing a fit at the front of the line.

“I don’t know how many times I’ve gone over this with you. Vanilla. Soy milk. Latte.” This came from a slender young woman who wore well-tailored off the rack like it was bespoke. Her words dripped frost and she held out the offending beverage, her pale blue eyes pinning Sun behind the register. “Your lack of attention to detail is frankly appalling. You are lucky I am only irritable and not litigious— you could have made me quite ill this time, Wukong!”

Sun was taking meager shelter behind the digital screen of the register system, his hands held before him and his face set in his most pathetic apologetic grin. It fell on an uncaring audience.

Blake sighed, placing the mug in her hand back on the counter and moving to stand next to Sun. Rescuing coworkers from irate regulars was pretty far down on her list of favorite things. “I’m really really sorry about that, Miss Schnee. I’ll get your replacement made right away.” Then, in an undertone that was bordering on reprimand, “Sun, next time just tell me it’s for Weiss. Then I’ll know what to make and it will save us all this trouble.” She nudged him in the ankle with her toe, then snagged a to go cup off the stack and a paper carton of soy from the counter, retreating back to the comfort of her espresso machine.

“Thank goodness _someone_ is competent around here.” Giving Sun one last glare, Weiss tossed her long white-blonde ponytail and stalked with elegant purpose to the end of the espresso bar to await her beverage remake. It was impressive how such a relatively tiny person could take up such a large amount of space. Even in her heeled boots she barely came up to Sun’s shoulder, but he still looked for the exit when she came striding through the door. So did Neptune, but for entirely different reasons... which was why the two of them were handling the current line all by themselves, while Neptune was on an urgent bathroom break. Three ill-fated dates and the blue haired man yelped at the mere mention of a soy latte.

Blake wasn’t sure why the austere woman still came to Feelin’ Perky— it seemed like there was a mistake almost every other time she came in. She wasn’t complaining, she liked Weiss’ take-no-prisoners attitude and they talked regularly when she caught Blake at the espresso machine with no line. Weiss even tipped well in spite of the constant errors.

It was just getting embarrassing, to be honest. At this point Sun had to be doing it on purpose. She would have to have a conversation with him about that, which would be a hassle. But since she had the keys and a raise she really couldn’t avoid the fact that she was the assistant manager anymore, and harassing regular customers was a thing assistant managers had conversations with their employees about.

Weiss left with her new latte and Blake worked her way through the mid-morning rush, exchanging pleasantries with her regulars. By the time it had slowed down enough that she could think about taking a break it was almost time for her to go home anyway, so she just leaned a hip against the back counter and looked out at the lobby of the cafe. She thought about making herself an iced tea to take to the studio, and was just pulling the pitcher from the fridge when the bell over the front door jingled cheerfully.

The girl who came through first was skipping backwards and somehow not tripping over herself, a feat made more difficult by the fact that she was also talking excitedly to her companion, her hands flying wildly as she made a very animated point. The skipping girl was a regular— Ruby, Blake remembered from previous interactions— who liked pastries and as many shots of espresso as possible, please.

She was accompanied by a tall woman with wild blonde hair falling to her mid-back, who seemed to be very amused by her antics. A woman who had a disconcertingly familiar jawline and striking purple eyes. She guffawed at something the smaller girl said, quickly reaching out to keep her from tripping over a chair that wasn’t pushed in all the way. 

“Yang, the donuts here are the BEST! You know, it’s scientifically proven that donuts help with brain function!” Her high-pitched voice dropped to a husky stage whisper, “It’s because they’re a torus— their three dimensional circular shape signifies the infinite.”

“Does it now?” The blonde’s voice was like slow smokey honey, a curl of laughter hidden at the back. “Well then, we should probably get some tori.” She ruffled her companion’s dark reddish brown hair while Ruby laughed and squawked a protest about size advantage and failure to comply with the articles of fair combat. 

The half second it took Blake to process these arrivals was likely imperceptible outside of her own head, but she felt like she was short-circuiting. The easy-going blonde woman made Blake feel slightly off-balance, as if she were being dragged forward by a magnetic force. She quickly fixed on her best customer service robot smile and slid over to the register. 

“Good morning folks, welcome to Feelin’ Perky. What can I get started for you today?”

“Hello! We will take ALL of your finest donuts please!”

“Two. We will take two of your finest donuts, please.”

This earned the blonde a stern look and a growl. “I know what I’m about, son.” The bouncy girl looked back at Blake with authority. “As you know, we _will_ take _all_ of your finest donuts please. I have a big ass study session planned and I need brain food. I would also like an iced 32 ounce caramel americano with cream and whipped cream and chocolate drizzle please. My sister will have a super boring 24 ounce iced cold brew with absolutely nothing in it because she likes her coffee to be as bitter as she is-OUCH-Thank you!” The elbow to the ribs didn’t seem to phase her at all, and she kept right on grinning as Blake boxed up all fifteen of the assorted donuts left in the pastry case, accepted her cash and returned her change. 

As she pumped syrup, pulled shots, and poured milk, Blake’s peripheral vision kept jumping to the tall blonde woman. She teased her sister as they each chose a donut, the younger girl pointing out that she was being generous in sharing because they were vital resources for her academic advancement. Blake kept her gaze down as she placed the large cold cups on the counter, and was about to turn away when that smoke and honey voice spoke directly to her.

“Oh hey, you’re from this morning—“

It was like a current running down her spine. The need to explain why she’d been full-on staring at the ordinary sight of a person jogging in a residential neighborhood temporarily overtook Blake’s better judgement. 

“Yeeeahhh, hi... Uhm, just so you know, I wasn’t staring at you. I was staring at your sweatshirt.”

Nailed it.

“Uh. Sure?”

“Yes. It’s just so…garish. I couldn’t take my eyes off of it.”

“Wow. Ok.”

Perfect, act like that was a normal thing to say. No one will notice. She blinked back across the counter, her face carefully neutral.

Ruby, seeing the two of them staring at each other like dying goldfish, decided that this would be a good time to come up and claim her massive sugar-rush in a cup. “Uhm, Yang? Do you guys know each other?” She looked over to Blake and flashed her a huge, sweet smile. “Blake, I’m sorry my sister is a total social incompetent. We only got her to stop punching people for saying good morning, like, three years ago.”

“You know, my dad designed that sweatshirt for his shop. I really like it.”

“Not to call your taste into question, but the color combination is jarringly abrasive. I’m a little surprised no one else has said anything if it’s supposed to be advertising a business. Though I suppose it would be excellent for avoiding traffic accidents.” 

Yang tilted her head to the side, slowly looking Blake up and down. She seemed a little irritated by the interaction, but oddly amused by it as well. This would be a fucking blessing if Blake’s brain was working in any real functioning capacity. “It’s just a sweatshirt, it’s really not that big of a deal. Sure it’s not beautiful, but it’s comfortable and my dad’s proud of it, so I wear it. Besides, you’re one to talk about garish.” She smirked and nodded towards the bright tropical green of the Feelin’ Perky uniform apron, a stark contrast to the worn and faded black of Blake’s sweater and jeans.

Blake bristled, but before she could say anything about her mandatory state of dress, Ruby cut in. “Oh come on, she’s not wrong Yang. You know those sweatshirts are super ugly. You are literally the only one other than dad who wears one. Even Uncle Qrow wouldn’t take one and it was _free._ ” The dark-haired girl had the box of donuts balanced at her hip and her coffee in her hand, her intelligent silver-grey gaze darting between Blake and her sister. “Anyway, I’ve got a web design class I can’t skip. Can I catch a ride with you, or are you going to stay to debate fashion with my favorite barista?”

Yang shrugged, her expression sliding into an easy, sheepish grin. “Eh, I’ll go with you. I have stuff I need to get done on campus.” She looked back to Blake, trapping her in her violet gaze. “I guess it was… nice to meet you? What was your name again?”

Blake pointed numbly to the name tag pinned to her apron. Ruby squinted at it, laughed, and linked her arm with Yang’s, towing her out of the shop. 

As soon as they were gone and the shop was free of paying customers, Blake slammed through the doors to the back room, pulling her apron off over her head with little regard for what it did to her chin-length bob. She snagged Neptune by the collar from where he was half-assedly reorganizing the milk in the back refrigerator, shoving him out towards the front of the shop.

“I’m done. Your turn.” Hanging her apron on the hook by the door, her eye caught on her name tag. Someone (who was now going to be losing access to the cafe label maker, damn him) had amended the pin so that it now cheerfully read, “Hello, I’m ALWAYS RIGHT ;)”. 

______________________________________________________________

“I’m going to murder Sun. And probably Scarlet. Maybe Neptune too, just for good measure. I like to be thorough.” Blake had her scroll on speaker and clutched between her knees as she threw her ancient Honda Civic into reverse and backed out of the driveway. Something complained with a squeal, and she filed it under the list of ‘car things she couldn’t afford to worry about’.

The house she shared with the boys was on a quiet street near the university, which was definitely a good thing because she did not look over her shoulder as thoroughly as she should have. A minivan blasted its horn as it pulled by, narrowly avoiding her rear bumper. “Fuck fuck fuck me, today is the worst.” She chanted, before taking a deep breath and pulling completely from the driveway.

Ilia chuckled through the speaker. Blake could hear the sounds of moving around and knew her friend was getting ready to head out to her bartending shift. “Neptune and Sun definitely make sense, but what did Scarlet do? I didn’t think he was around enough to be irritating.”

“SCARLET stole the shampoo and conditioner out of my shower and didn’t even bother to return them. I know it wasn’t Neptune because he uses this stuff with pink salt blessed by sacred virgins or something, and who knows how often Sun even washes his hair. I think he just slaps gel into it and calls it good.” She pulled onto the street with a more careful eye to oncoming traffic. “Scarlet is only around if he hasn’t annoyed his most recent fuckbuddy enough to convince them to break up with him, so he doesn’t bother keeping his own shampoo here. Bastard.” 

“A little bitter are we?” Ilia’s voice was muffled, like she was pulling a shirt over her head.

“No I’m not. I’m a LOT bitter. Scarlet somehow has both models for his thesis project already, even though he has all of the personality of a sassy gay pet rock. Sun is modeling for him, and so is Neptune’s friend Sage. I still only have Neptune, and Professor Goodwitch is breathing down my neck about whether or not I’m even going to have a portfolio to show on the spring runway.”

“You’ll pull through. I could model for you, if you really need me to.”

“No way, I am not putting you through that again.” Blake sighed. Ilia had modeled for her once. It had easily been the most unpleasant thing her friend had ever had to do, and she had helped Ilia stitch a knife wound in her own leg with no anaesthetics. “This is a full portfolio with two models, three garments each. Not to mention you’d be modeling with Neptune, and I’m pretty sure you would probably stab him by the end of it and then I’d have to clean blood out of my clothes AND find a new model last minute…”

“Okay okay, I get it.” Ilia was laughing, her voice further away from the scroll and echoing, like she was in the bathroom. This was confirmed by the sound of an aerosol can being shaken and dispensed in the background. “I’m just saying I’m here for you, I know you know that.”

“I know. You’re the best.” A small smile broke across her face like daylight through storm clouds. “And Sun and Neptune are here for me too, even if they are assholes most of the time.” The scroll line was companionably quiet for a while as Ilia finished getting ready and Blake navigated the light early afternoon traffic. As Blake pulled into the parking lot for the Autumn Hall and shut off her car, she finally voiced what had been lingering at the edge of her mind for the entirety of the conversation. “Ilia, when do you think I’m going to be normal again?” This came out more needy and vulnerable than she would have liked. 

There was another long pause. When her friend spoke, she could hear the gentle smile she knew was tugging lopsidedly at the corner of her mouth. “Blake… Were you ever normal to begin with?”

She snorted, resting her forehead on the peeling steering wheel. “Oh, screw you. You know what I mean. I still suck at talking like a real person. I’m an asshole or a space alien and there’s nothing in between. I don’t know how to change it.”

She could hear the measured intake of breath, knew that right about now Ilia was probably twitching for a cigarette even though she quit three years ago. “Have you considered that maybe you don’t have to change it, Blake? Maybe you just need to see that the people around you actually like you the way you are. We went through some major shit when we were way too young and inexperienced to really understand what was happening around us. We’re still learning what that means for us now, and what that means for the people who get to know us. Just take some time to get comfortable with that.”

“Mnnngh. But it’s haaard.” She thumped her forehead gently on the steering wheel a couple of times. “Why do you make so much more sense than my therapist? You say exactly the same things!”

“Hazel is chill as fuck, we’re on the same wavelength or something.” Ilia was clattering around her apartment again, opening and closing cupboards. “I love you, kitty cat. You’ll figure your shit out, gods know you’re doing better than I am.”

“That’s bullshit, but I appreciate it.” Blake sighed, “I love you too, have a good shift. Beat someone up for me.”

“I wasn’t planning to, but now that you’ve said it I basically have to.” A soft chuckle. “Bye Blake.”

“Bye Ilia.”

Blake sat for a minute longer, bent forward with her eyes closed, and settled her mind on Ilia getting ready to leave for work. She was definitely making one of her godawful protein smoothies, drinking it while she listened to 80s power ballads and tidied around her apartment. It was oddly comforting to think of her intense, tenacious friend in such a domestic setting.

After a few deep breaths, Blake sat up, gathered her messenger bag, and pulled herself out of the car. The spring day was still crisp in spite of the bright sunshine. Blake straightened her shoulders and walked with confidence into the Autumn Hall. 

The airy, sunlit building housed the Fine Arts Department of Beacon Arts and Polytechnic University. She pushed through the tall Art Deco aluminum and glass doors and climbed the elegant, curving staircase to the third floor. Her black satin kimono cardigan swirled around her as she climbed, and she took in the sounds of other students calling out to each other, phrases of music being played in classrooms, pottery wheels and other noises of artistic industry. 

She stepped into the fashion lab to be greeted by the thoroughly unimpressed face of Professor Glynda Goodwitch. The tension that had been somewhat relieved by her conversation with Ilia returned in spades. The imposing woman was standing next to Blake’s workstation, holding her design sketchbook as though it were a piece of particularly tasteless pornography.

“Good afternoon Miss Belladonna. I’m glad you decided to join us today. We need to discuss the… progress you’ve made on your thesis project.”

Blake schooled her face carefully neutral. Professor Goodwitch’s Advanced Fashion Design and Production class was demanding and very difficult to get into. She had worked all last quarter on the portfolio that had earned her a place in this class. The fact that she was four weeks into a ten week quarter and only had one model selected and no garments completed was definitely not a good thing, but she had thoroughly earned her place here. She just had to keep reminding herself of that fact.

“Professor Goodwitch, I would be more than happy to explain my plan for production and show you my design sketches. I don’t have my second model chosen yet, so obviously I can’t move forward with drafting the designs for the second half of my portfolio, but I have measurements and patterns drafted for Neptune—“

“To be honest, that is not why I am concerned Miss Belladonna.” The small, powerful woman gazed at Blake over the top of her black-rimmed glasses, idly tapping the wire-bound sketchbook against the palm of her opposite hand. She flipped it open and turned to the pages where Blake had sketched the anonymous, genderless croquis with the garments that would accompany what she had designed for Neptune. “I am more concerned that you have moved forward with a design plan before you have chosen a second model. The forms you are creating with these pieces are striking, but who knows if they will suit the model you find. If you were able to choose from a stable of models it would not be a problem, but our situation is a little different. Here, I encourage you to design for your models as much as you design for yourself.” 

She snapped the sketchbook shut and placed it on the work table, her gaze level. “I will be honest with you, Blake. You have gone through more models than any student I have ever worked with. And I know it’s not because you’re melodramatic or anger-prone or any of the myriad of other artistic personality flaws I’ve dealt with over the years. I’m aware of your...checkered past. It does not have to reflect on your here and now. I want you to succeed. And to succeed you need to stop cutting yourself off at the knees.” Goodwitch straightened and pushed away from the workstation, her intensity leaving no room for argument. “You _will_ find a second model who will finish out the term with you. You will graduate on a strong note. Learning to work _with_ your models, not around them, is the only way you can truly begin to flourish as a designer.” With that the elegant woman turned and swept out of the room, her stilettos clicking on the hard floor as she went.

Blake sank onto her stool, giving the sketchbook a petulant shove across the work surface away from her. Where exactly was she supposed to find a model now? Of course she knew she needed one, but she had tried all of her resources with no success. She asked friends of friends, and friends of friends of friends. All of her options were not really options, like Ilia, or were already modeling for another designer in the class. She was doing everything she could with what she currently had, and apparently she shouldn’t even be doing that. Frustration, anger, and despair warred within her.

She got up and moved to the dress form that she had padded out to Neptune’s proportions. She had already started draping her second piece on it, a suit coat featuring a high structured collar and flowing sleeves that would showcase beading at the hems. The coat tapered in, exaggerating Neptune’s already narrow waist and wide shoulders. 

Her first garment was already draped and patterned, and she didn’t want to think about the amount of time she had wasted on it if she had to start over from scratch. Grimly, Blake began to pull piece after piece of the draped, marked linen from the dress form, violently tossing the segments aside. A pin snagged on the skin of her cuticle, tearing it open. She hissed at her own stupidity, bringing the finger to her mouth to suck at the wound and keep the blood clear of her fabric.

“Are you ok?” 

The quiet voice made her jump— Blake hadn’t realized anyone else had come in while she was having her sartorial tantrum. Velvet was standing just out of flailing range, worry written on her sweet face. Across the room, Coco Adel was setting up their pristine work space, pointedly not looking over at Blake and the mess she was making. Coco and Blake got along relatively well, each keeping to their own lanes. Apparently Coco’s girlfriend missed the memo, because suddenly she was taking Blake’s hand in hers, exclaiming over the injury, then running to get a bandaid out of her camera bag. 

Blake let Velvet wrap a smiley-face bandage around her index finger, schooling herself not to twitch at the touch of her soft, cool skin, and thanked her for it as evenly as she could. She tidied up her studio space quickly, trying to ignore the quiet conversation between the two at the other end of the design lab. Velvet had always modeled for Coco, even before they started dating— she was patient and kind, and she walked the runway like a pro. She could probably be a pro if her passion hadn’t always been photography, but she wanted to be behind the cameras, not in front of them. The ethereal, waifish woman would grace the runways of Beacon for Coco alone.

Stories like Velvet and Coco didn’t just happen. Finding a model that you could work well with, that inspired you, that was willing to try new things with you, was a difficult, if not impossible, endeavor. Neptune was a decent model. He liked being seen and he walked with grace and style, but he would argue designs with her if he thought they wouldn’t look good on him, and he certainly wasn’t inspiring to work with. Handsome, yes, but not a muse. 

She opened the sketchbook and flipped to the page that Goodwitch had perused, examining the sketches with a critical eye. The garments were minimalist, elegant, and would show off her ability to tailor and drape effectively, while keeping to the theme of the portfolio show. She had planned to have the other model represent night to Neptune’s day, playing off of Neptune’s blue hair and bright smile. 

She wasn’t going to get anywhere without another model, and another model wasn’t going to just appear out of thin air. Blake closed the sketchbook and shoved it into her messenger bag. She needed to do something productive and clear her head.

______________________________________________________________

**:Blake: Ugh.**

**:Ilia: I take it your afternoon went well?**

**:Blake: Goodwitch ambushed me, so yes.**

**:Blake: She gave me an ultimatum, find a model or PERISH.**

**:Ilia: ….Well, it was nice knowing you. ;D**

**:Blake: ….**

**:Blake: …….**

**:Blake: ………. X[**

**:Ilia: What’s that supposed to be?**

**:Blake: Me, trying to figure out if I can make someone’s head explode over a scroll connection. Apparently it didn’t work.**

**:Ilia: Aww, think about how lonely you’d be if my head exploded.**

**:Blake: Your headless corpse would be about as useful as you have been.**

**:Ilia: DAMN.**

**:Ilia: Okay, you go work off this MOOD you’re in.**

**:Blake: No amount of time on the treadmill will make me forget your betrayal.**

**:Ilia: ...**

**:Blake: Sorry I’m being an asshole today. Have a good shift.**

**:Ilia: You’re an asshole every day, but I’m used to it. <3 ttyl**

______________________________________________________________

ART CORNER:

~[Ruby and Yang have a philosophical discussion about donuts](https://probably-momo.tumblr.com/post/634273767084949504/torus-vs-taurus-ruby-is-a-total-computermath)

~[Yang concept art](https://probably-momo.tumblr.com/post/633719025729486848/more-faults-enough-character-concept-art-i-was)

~[Blake concept art](https://probably-momo.tumblr.com/post/633641368524390400/sketchbook-drawing-colored-with-prismacolors-of)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR’S NOTES:  
> -The title of this fic comes from Pride and Prejudice, Chapter 11: “I have faults enough, but they are not, I hope, of understanding. My temper I dare not vouch for. It is, I believe, too little yielding— certainly too little for the convenience of the world.”  
> -This was originally written as a birthday gift for @spoopsboops. It was supposed to be a smutty oneshot that exploded into a (now) 27 chapter work with plans for at least four stories and oneshots to follow.  
> -Most of the cafe scenes come from my own experiences as a barista. I served seven years under the green apron and if all I have to show for it is a smutty fanfiction, I will still consider it time well spent.  
> -There are lines you do not cross. Don’t give someone dairy if they ask for soy, and don’t give someone regular if they ask for decaf. It doesn’t matter how much of a dick they are.  
> -We don’t get much Weiss in this fic, but I love writing her when she does show up. There are hints towards a WhiteRose fic I am going to write as a sequel to this one… Whenever I finish this beast.  
> -Science fact. Donuts make you smart.  
> -Qrow NEVER turns down free stuff— he’s the bane of anyone giving out samples at a grocery store. If you have never seen a grown man consumer 30 miniature sausages in under a minute, count yourself lucky.  
> Idle hands (with label makers) are the devil’s playground…  
> -Hazel Rainart is Blake’s therapist. When he lost his sister he had a lot of pent-up rage to work through. In this universe he found a more constructive outlet for his emotions.  
> -In all universes, Glynda Goodwitch dresses like a dominatrix and does not suffer fools gladly.  
> -I have never taken a formal fashion design course. My references for these scenes are based largely on my own experience drafting and sewing original garments, and binging all available seasons of Project Runway. You could say I Made It Work.  
> -Sun does not model for Blake anymore. There was An Incident.  
> -Coco and Velvet. (I might need to do a CrossHares fic someday, need to finish reading the novels first…)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yang definitely, totally has her life together. If she could just get her sister and her friends to stop interfering...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING: Motorcycle accident and resulting injuries mentioned. Themes of PTSD and shitty parent/child relationships discussed, explored more explicitly in later chapters. I will include warning for NSFW chapters so that readers can skip them if they prefer.
> 
> RECOMMENDED LISTENING:  
> \- “Nevermind”, Valley  
> \- “The Greatest (feat. Kendrick Lamar)”, Sia, Kendrick Lamar

Listen to the Spotify playlist (curated by the author’s wife, @spoopsboops) [HERE](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0NAkxw0y9KBjkbqX3Yum36?si=qqntl2_8SzaPr6HqcRZ_kQ).

Follow on [Tumblr](Probably_Momo.tumblr.com) and [Instagram](http://Www.instagram.com/probably_momo) @probably_momo, for art and writing updates.

______________________________________________________________

Yang’s computer hummed ominously, then let out a mournful boop. In the blink of an eye her almost-completed AutoCAD project vanished from the screen to be replaced by dire blue and a scrolling recovery percentile. She yanked her headphones down her neck, hands flying up to the monitor to cradle it like the face of a dying comrade. 

“Shit, no, baby don’t this to me right now please. I need you, don’t fucking do this to me.” She scrambled for her scroll on the wireless charger and pulled up Ruby’s number.

**:Yang: comp died plz help lost my project**

**:Yang: srsly im fuckin goin nuts here plz help**

She pushed away from the desk, stretching her back and running her fingers through her bangs distractedly, and went to the fridge in her kitchenette. Her scroll vibrated as she grabbed a cold bottle of water, chugging half of it and then holding it against her forehead. 

**:RubyRoo: OMG WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER???**

**:Yang: i didnt do anything, i was running autocad and it crashed**

**:RubyRoo: She’s a delicate system! Have you been keeping up on the maintenance plan I outlined for you????**

She thought about that for a second. Ruby had completely rebuilt their dad’s old shop computer for Yang when she started her 3D modeling courses, since the outdated processor couldn’t handle the demands of the newest software she needed to run. Ruby had rattled off something complicated and authoritative when she handed the system off, which Yang had agreed to, but hell if she knew what it was now.

**:Yang: sure have**

**:RubyRoo: UGH you are the WORST**

**:RubyRoo: I’ll be there in 10 minutes**

Yang leaned back in her desk chair, finishing off the water in the bottle in one long pull. Now that she’d gotten over the initial shock of the computer blue-screening in the middle of her project she was less frantic— AutoCAD was set to save her progress every five minutes, so she hadn’t lost that much work. But the project was still due the next morning, and she had been well on track to have it finished. Who knew now, depending on whether or not the computer was even recoverable. She spun in the chair, watching the overtaxed machine trying to pull itself back together. 

“If you had an internal combustion engine I could do something about this. Instead I’m stuck calling in my kid sister. I hope you understand how embarrassing that is.” When this did not elicit a response from the malfunctioning machine, Yang half-heartedly chucked the empty water bottle at the monitor and went to flop on her bed instead, scrolling through Instagram while she waited for Ruby to show up. The lecture she was going to get was inevitable. Frustration bubbled in her chest, but she tried to ignore it. 

Less than 10 minutes later, the door to Yang’s dorm was thrown open and Ruby bounced inside. She gave her lounging sibling half a disdainful glance before she flung herself down in front of the computer, gently petting the tower and crooning to it. “Oooh, poor baby. What did that big meanie do to you? I’ll get you all fixed up lickety split.”

“I didn’t do anything, Rubes. I was literally just running AutoCAD and it crashed.”

“Exactly. You didn’t DO anything. I bet you haven’t run a defrag on the disk in, what, EVER? She’s a noble old girl Yang, you have to provide regular maintenance if you expect peak performance.” She cast a grey-eyed glare at her indifferent sibling. “I brought you the last donut from this morning, but now I don’t think you deserve it.”

“I’m not sure if I should be impressed or worried that you already ate all of those donuts.”

“I shared some with Nora. I didn’t appreciate you antagonizing my favorite barista, by the way. Blake always gives me an extra shot of espresso and makes sure I get my favorite pastries. She even gave me a free cake pop when I aced that big data management midterm!”

One golden eyebrow arched skyward. “I don’t think I did the antagonizing in that situation. I was perfectly civil, especially considering the circumstances. Your goth barista was weird at me and I just rolled with it. Anything that comes out of that situation is definitely not my fault.”

“Blake is a little different, but she’s a good person. A lot like a certain big sister I happen to know. One who wouldn’t know a software update if it bit her on the ass.”

Yang pressed her face into the pillow to drown out her sister’s shrill ranting about blowing dust out of the cooling system and something about patching.

“...and I think there’s like a whole chalupa’s worth of crumbs in this keyboard, oh my GOD. Do you eat like the Cookie Monster????”

The pillow arced across the room, missing the brunette by a foot and knocking the Classic Superbikes of the 70’s calendar off of the wall. “Fuck.” She rolled off of the mattress and went hunting for the push pin that had bounced off into the carpet. “Can you fix it or not, and maybe sometime in the next week? I was almost done with that project and I’ve got shit to do tonight.” 

Ruby spun to face her in the desk chair, kicking her heels up and clutching her chest dramatically. “Does Yang Xiao Long have a hot date tonight? Stop the presses! Tell me all about her!”

“She’s a six foot nothing red headed bombshell who has a thing for blonde idiots.”

“Sounds like you were made for eachother. Though he will be heartbroken by the news, I’m sure Jaune will wish you both the best.”

Yang groaned and collapsed face down into the carpet, solemnly presenting her younger sister with her middle finger.

Peals of giggles bent Ruby over double, “I can’t help it,” She gasped, “You set it up for me perfectly!” She continued to choke on her own laughter, pointedly ignoring the glare that her sister leveled in her direction.

Deciding against the harsh retort that was on the tip of her tongue, Yang sat up and continued hunting for the wayward thumbtack. “Not that funny, dude. It’s not like I see you going on any dates. Have you made any moves on that hot, bitchy babe in your computer class that you were telling me about?”

Ruby pulled herself upright, catching her breath and wrinkling her nose at her sister. “A.) It’s my logic design class, not ‘computer class’. I’m a database development major, almost all of my classes are ‘computer’ classes. B.) I don’t ‘make moves’ on people, I'm more sophisticated than that, and C.) we’re not talking about me right now. We’re talking about you.” She fixed Yang with an uncomfortably familiar look, the one that said she had her teeth into a subject and she wasn’t ready to let go of it yet. She definitely picked that up from their dad. “You go to class and you work at the shop on the weekends. You work out with Pyrrha and you go jogging. You get coffee with me like once a month. Sometimes you go to a party and meet a girl you end up seeing a few times. You’re existing Yang, you aren’t really doing much more than that.”

Something pricked the tip of Yang’s index finger as she groped under the bookshelf— she growled and grabbed at the thumbtack, pushing herself to her feet and striding back over to the wall next to the desk to rehang the calendar. “I go to trivia on Saturdays with you guys.” She muttered through gritted teeth, not looking in Ruby’s direction. She pushed the fastener into the wall with more force than was necessary, leaving the calendar swaying behind her as she turned away.

“Because I basically forced you to go the first couple of times. Fun shouldn’t be compulsory, Yang.” There was a horribly gentle tone to the younger girl's voice, dragging a razor blade of kindness down Yang’s frayed nerves. “It’s been three years since the accident. Have you talked to anyone about it yet?”

The familiar awful tightness in her chest was building and she didn’t want it to burst, not with Ruby there. Ruby didn’t deserve that, she was just trying to help. But if she continued with this line of conversation Yang wasn’t sure she would be able to stop the tide of emotion that was building inside of her.

“Fuck Rubes, you sound just like Dad. I’m fine. Can’t you both just leave me alone?” Her voice was level and low, as controlled as she could make it. She walked to the bed and flopped onto it, pressing the heels of her palms to her eyes. Images of headlights, shattering glass, sterile hospital rooms, worried faces, and years of painful physical therapy flashed through her mind. She breathed deeply, pushing the tangled thoughts and emotions back and away, calming her racing heart. Live to fight another day. Deal with it later, and if later never came that was fine with her.

After fifteen minutes or so of typing and clicking at the computer, there was shifting at the desk. Ruby stood, cracking her knuckles and picking up her backpack. “You’re up and running again sis. Maybe… Just think about what I said, ok? You’re allowed to be happy, but it’s going to take some work to get there.” There was a crinkling and a shuffling sound of something being pulled out of the backpack. “I’ll leave your donut here.”

“Ruby, wait.” Yang sat up, standing and moving quickly towards her little sister’s departing back. As the brunette turned to look at her, she was caught up in a tight hug. “Thank you. Thank you for fixing my computer. Thank you for looking out for me. I’m sorry I’m such an ass sometimes. I love you.”

The hug was returned with equal fervor. “I love you too, even when you are an ass.” There was a smile in the words. “Have a good workout tonight. Flexing at cute girls always cheers you up. Tell Pyrrha I said hi.”

She snorted at that. “Will do.” Yang pulled back, quickly ruffling the shorter girl’s hair while she had the upper hand. “See you on Saturday, pipsqueak. We’re gonna trash you in the finals.”

“I don’t take threats lightly. I hope you know that this means WAR!”

——————————————————————————————————

The gym wasn’t too crowded, and Pyrrha and Yang easily laid claim to a corner of the weight room that offered them plenty of elbow room and good sight lines for people-watching as they went through their weight circuits together. The open layout of the BAPT athletic center meant they could see across the open atrium space, which was taken up on the first floor by the massive swimming pool, to the running track that went all the way around the second level, which they currently occupied. They could also see up to the third level where the cardio machines were housed, along with instructional spaces directly above them. 

Yang liked being able to watch as people came and went while she worked out, the visibility giving her a sense of security. Having Pyrrha there with her, spotting her lifts, gave her the extra level of comfort necessary to work out in such a public space. It had been two years before she had built back enough upper body strength not to be embarrassed to work out around anyone other than Ruby, her dad, or Qrow… She gritted her teeth and powered through an extra five pushups on top of the fifteen that started her warm ups. Feeling sorry for herself wasn’t going to get her anywhere. 

As she rolled onto her back to get into position for crunches, her eyes came to rest on the line of ellipticals up against the glass half-wall on the third floor. Particularly, on the slender, dark-haired figure who was currently occupying one of the ellipticals, setting a steady pace as her black bob bounced hypnotically. Yang paused mid-crunch, her abs burning as her knees kissed her chest— yep, that was definitely Ruby’s pastry-peddling barista. Damn, she was actually kinda cute when she wasn’t awkwardly critiquing Yang’s choice of early morning exercise attire. Well, she was cute then too, but it was easier to admire her now. Yang finished the set of crunches, eyes on the brunette. Blake seemed to be entirely zoned out into her workout routine, headphones in her ears and gaze distant.

“Whatcha lookin’ at?” Pyrrha dropped down onto the mat next to Yang, grinning cheerfully and looking for all the world like a red haired goddess in spandex. “We’ve only been here five minutes and you’re already on babe watch? You work fast!” She stretched gracefully into a front split and then leaned her torso towards her left thigh, reaching to grasp the ball of her foot with both hands. She repeated the process on the other side, elongating her spine. 

Yang pushed herself up onto the balls of her feet and then stood, still bent forward, stretching out her hamstrings. “Eleven o’clock. Brunette on the elliptical. She was really strange this morning when Ruby and I went out to get coffee. Apparently Ruby really likes her because of her tendency to dole out extra shots of espresso, go figure.” She straightened, bending one arm behind her head and pulling the elbow with her free hand, taking the opportunity to check on the woman on the floor above them. She was still striding away, seemingly oblivious to the observation.

Pyrrha stood as well, moving to start wiping down the weight bench with disinfectant wipes. She cast her own surreptitious glance up to the third floor through the mirror behind them, quickly finding the object of Yang’s interest. “Oh my gosh, that’s Blake! She’s an absolute darling! She’s a little brusque, but she doesn’t kick Jaune out of the cafe when he falls asleep studying, and she once called me to come pick him up when he started talking in his sleep.” Suddenly Pyrrha was at the railing of the atrium, waving delightedly across to try and catch the other woman’s attention. “BLAAAAAAKE! HEEEELLLOOOOOO!!!!”

“Pyrrha nooooo….” Yang groaned under her breath. She covered her embarrassment by busying herself with cleaning the weights for their circuits. “Why are you and Ruby dead set on ruining my life today…?” She watched in the mirror on the back wall as Blake slowed her workout and raised one hand, waving tentatively back at her friend's jubilant greeting. She may not have been aware of their presence before, but she definitely was now. 

As she finished sanitizing the weights and went to throw out the wipes, Yang suddenly recalled Ruby’s parting jab. Flexing at cute girls indeed. Maybe that was just the kind of positive reinforcement her mood needed right now. She shook her hair down from its normal ponytail and slowly twisted it up into a messy bun. She was pulling her band t-shirt over her head right as Pyrrha walked back towards her. 

“Uh, Yang? What are you doing?”

She chucked the shirt at her friend. “I’m getting serious, Pyrr. What does it look like I’m doing?”

“It looks like you’re going to star in a questionable 80’s workout video. But as long as you’re ready, I’m ready. Let’s get started.” The redhead went over to set up the sliding bench press rack for Yang’s weight. 

“75, not 65. I’ve been benching 65 easy for a month now.”

“Is your PT ok with you lifting that much?”

“Yes mom. Do you want me to show you the notes?” Yang rolled her eyes, grinning up at her friend as she leaned back on the bench.

“You get two sets of eight reps at 75. I’m not gonna let you mess your arm up just because you want to impress some girl you claim not to like.” Pyrrha set the pin for her, double checking that it was seated properly before coming around to Yang’s head.

“She’s probably not even watching anyway.”

“Oh, she’s definitely watching.” Laughter crinkled up the corners of her green eyes as she leaned into Yang’s field of view. “Ready?”

“Ready.” She unlocked the bar, exhaling as she pushed against the resistance of the weight and feeling each of her muscle groups in turn responding to the force of the press. As she reached the apex she held briefly and then exhaled as she brought the weights back down again in a controlled movement. It felt good to push herself, to feel her body engaging and moving. It was easy to fall into the rhythmic pattern of the lifts, even as her breathing became labored and she had to focus more and more on the smooth slide of the weights back down on their track. They clacked into place on Pyrrha’s calm count of eight, and Yang felt a swell of pleasure in the controlled finish to her reps. She hated it when people slammed down their weights like some sort of exclamation point to their effort. Yang released the padded grips, stretching her wrists and curling up into a sitting position. She flashed a grin at her friend, casting her gaze towards the mirror and the dark haired woman reflected there. Blake was taking a long pull from her water bottle, still astride the elliptical— and she was staring unabashedly at their corner of the gym. 

Yang helped Pyrrha get her weights set for her bench press. Pyrrha pressed with a barbell, not the machine, and Yang spotted for her. As she counted Pyrrha’s reps she focused hard on her friend’s form and her breathing, trying to drown out the quiet ache of envy. Pyrrha had an appearance of easy strength that Yang knew had taken years to build. But there were times when it was hard not to draw comparisons, especially as her right elbow and forearm ached dully from the sets she had just completed. Comparison was laughable— her friend was in the pros and Yang was lucky if she was benched for the minor leagues. She caught the barbell in her cupped palms and helped Pyrrha seat it in the rack. 

“What do you think? Bent rows and squats?” There was an uncommonly wicked glint in Pyrrha’s gaze as she toweled the light perspiration from her brow. 

“Do you wingman often? Because you are shockingly good at this.” Yang looked at the redhead with a newfound respect. 

“Jaune fell for me while we were training for the Vytal Junior Championships, remember? Of course, it still took him two years to realize I was interested in him too, but that’s part of his charm.” Pyrrha dropped her towel and went over to the rack of weights. She brought a 30 pound barbell over to Yang. Her smirk was teasing but gentle. “Don’t argue with me— I saw you rubbing your arm. Like I said, no point messing yourself up for a girl you don’t even like.” 

Yang growled under her breath, but didn’t argue. She dried her palms on her own towel and chucked it over to join Pyrrha’s. On a cursory glance, Blake was setting a punishing pace on the elliptical, but her gaze still seemed to be cast down in their direction. Yang set herself up parallel to the mirror with the barbell in front of her and settled her feet shoulder width apart. She bent at the waist, her back held straight as she checked her form in the mirror, and grasped the weight firmly. Tightening her core, Yang inhaled, lifting the weight towards her breastbone and feeling the bands of muscles along her back and shoulders engage. Again, it was relaxing to fall into the pattern of breathing and work, counting as she went. As she completed the tenth bent row, she straightened her posture and adjusted her grip. Yang brought the barbell up to shoulder height and, with a practiced motion, brought it over her head and onto her shoulders. She pivoted her position so that she was facing the mirror, her hips square beneath her spine, and sank into a deep squat.

Now she was looking directly up to the third floor and the row of elliptical machines. Blake appeared to be in a cool down cycle, pushing steadily but not racing like she had been minutes before. Yang locked her gaze on the brunette in the reflection, setting her own steady pace for her set of weighted squats. As she worked she could feel sweat sliding down her spine between her bunching lats, but she could also feel the invisible heat of eyes sliding across her. She watched in the mirror as the other woman’s pace slowed and came to a stop, and couldn’t help but grin. Her thighs and core were burning as she exhaled through the last squat, and with a degree of relief she reversed her previous action to bring the barbell back in front of her shoulders and carefully lowered it to the ground. 

She turned to look at Blake, who was dismounting the elliptical, and gave into the sudden impulse to throw her a cheeky wave. Blake’s foot seemed to catch on the frame of the machine and she stumbled for a second, hopping and flailing for purchase. She righted herself quickly, snatching her water bottle from the cup holder on the machine and her towel from where it hung on the railing, before she stalked off in the direction of the stairs.

“Well, that went well.” Pyrrha came over with a wet wipe to help Yang clean off her barbell before she put it back. “Seeing her at the coffee shop, I wouldn’t take her for the embarrassed stumbling type.”

“Yeah, me neither. Go figure.” It was an endearingly human crack in the untouchable facade of the sharp-tongued barista. Yang brought the weight back to the rack and helped Pyrrha finish tidying their space, caught in her own thoughts. 

She had now heard accounts from two (relatively) reliable sources that, in spite of her somewhat aloof appearance, Blake was thoughtful, kind, and prone to acts of spontaneous generosity. Her arguably brief previous impressions of the woman had been of a serious person without much interest in interacting with her customers, handing Yang her brewed coffee with the barest of niceties. Though, if she was being honest, she wasn’t all that talkative first thing in the morning either. It could simply be that the dark-haired woman was respecting Yang’s own tendency towards silence. 

Pyrrha slung an arm around Yang’s shoulders, propelling her in the direction of the locker room. “If you keep thinking that hard you’re going to strain something. Let’s hit the showers.”

______________________________________________________________

There was a bit of a nip to the night air as they left the athletic center, the green scent of spring mixing with a lingering warning of frost. Yang zipped her motorcycle jacket to her chin, grateful for its warmth, before reaching in her pocket for her gloves. “I’ll see you in the welding lab tomorrow. I need to retry that vertical test so I’ll probably get in a little early.”

Pyrrha was about to reply, but stopped dead in her tracks, catching Yang’s shoulder with her palm. She pointed across the lot. Halfway down the parking lot, illuminated by the surreal glow of a streetlight, there was a small white Honda Civic with its hood popped. Sitting on the bumper, a hand running unconsciously through her short dark bob, was Blake.

“Your move, greasemonkey.” Pyrrha gave Yang a crooked grin and a gentle shove in the direction of the distressed brunette, and walked off towards her car.

Yang stumbled a step or two, and then found herself continuing to walk forward. “What the hell am I doing?” She growled under her breath, “She probably doesn’t want my help, of all people. Some knight in shining armor bullshit? Yeah right.” 

As she approached she schooled her face into an easy smile, tucking her hands into her pockets and doing her best to appear as harmless as possible. She cleared her throat when Blake didn’t immediately turn at the sound of her footsteps, causing the woman to jump to her feet. “Whoa whoa. Hey, it’s just me. You doing ok?”

“What do you want?” It wasn’t said with any venom, but with a degree of bone-deep exhaustion that called out to something previously unrecognized in Yang. Blake dropped her hands to her sides, shoulders hunched, but her gaze was level and her weight was evenly distributed on her feet like a dancer. Or a fighter. She was dressed practically for the season, dark jeans and a denim hoodie jacket, a purple scarf that looked sinfully soft tossed carelessly around her neck and well-worn black combat boots laced up tight.

“It looks like you’re having car trouble. I’m… Pretty good with cars. You want me to take a look?” She stayed where she was and kept her posture relaxed, letting the other woman dictate how she moved. The last thing Yang wanted to do was alarm her again, especially if she was offering help. 

The other woman was wary, dark brows drawn tight. “...Really? You fix cars?”

“Swear to the gods. I’ve been working on cars since I was a kid.” Yang didn’t let the brusque disbelief rile her— she was used to skepticism. It made proving her abilities all the more satisfying.

Blake considered this for a moment, eyes inscrutable under the orange glow of the streetlight. Finally, there was a fraction of a change to her posture and her shoulders relaxed. She tucked her hands into her pockets, mirroring Yang’s posture. “It won’t start. The dashboard lights come on, but it just clicks when I turn the key. I’ve had a dead battery before but it wasn’t anything like this.” 

“Do you mind if I…?” Yang stepped forward slowly, one hand out. The other woman pulled the keys from the pocket of her jacket, tossing them lightly over. Yang caught them, then walked around the car. She kept the bulk of the machine between her and Blake, and pulled the driver door open. The dome light blinked on. She slid behind the wheel, huffing out a laugh as she had to move the seat back several notches to sit comfortably. When she went to start the car it was exactly as Blake had said— not that she had doubted it in the slightest. The key turned in the ignition and the dashboard lights blinked on, but instead of the engine leaping to life, she was met with a _tap-hummmm_ from under the hood. Yang sighed, sliding out of the seat and leaning over the open door.

“It looks like your starter is dead. Do you have a tire iron I could borrow?”

“Uh, yeah. Let me dig it out.” After a bit of searching in the trunk, which was apparently filled with several boxes full of fabric, Blake produced a tire iron that looked to be about as old as the Honda itself. 

Hefting the rusty metal in one hand, Yang leaned over the engine and sought out the starter. She brought the tire iron down onto the starter with an authoritative THWAK, considered the part for a second, and gave it another sharp tap just for insurance. She stepped back, handing the iron back to her startled companion, and plopped back into the driver's seat.

“Sometimes that’s enough to get the starter working again. There are conductive brushes inside the starter. If they’re worn out or rusty a little percussion will hopefully knock them into place enough to get them running again, for a time. Let’s see if that did it.” She crossed her fingers and turned the key— and the starter responded with a _taptaptaptaptap_. No catch, no engine turnover. Yang hissed. “Well that sucks just a little bit.” 

“Now what?” Blake was hovering closer, the tire iron dangling from one white-knuckled hand. 

Yang pulled herself out of the car, resting an arm across the driver’s side door as she looked over at the other woman. “You need a new starter is what. You could jump-start the car but it’d only be a matter of time before this happens again. Honestly though, this heap of parts is more rust and duct tape than metal at this point. You’d probably be better off getting a new car altogether, considering the cost of parts and labor.” 

“No. I’m _not_ getting a new car.” Blake snapped, “ _This_ is my car.” The fire in her words was startling, as was the stubborn set to her jaw. Her eyes widened as if realizing how rude this was, especially directed at someone who was only trying to help. 

Blake came over to run a hand along the car’s roof, standing next to Yang but not looking at her. Her voice softened to barely more than a murmur. “I’m sorry. It might be stupid, I know how bad it is. Fuck, if you go over a speed bump too fast the windshield wipers turn on. But I’ve… I’ve been through a lot with this car. I don’t want to get a different one.” Now she looked up, and despite the odd glow from the streetlight Yang could see that her eyes were a striking tawny gold. There was a heaviness and sadness there, and Yang suddenly wished she could lift it away, to see what they would be like sparkling with laughter. “I don’t even know how much a tow truck is going to cost, let alone this repair. I have some savings, but…”

“I can tow it tomorrow.” It came out in a rush. She knew she was being impulsive, but she had to do something. Her brain was working in overdrive, her mouth running along ahead. “We have a tow truck at my dad’s garage— I’ll pick your car up tomorrow. I’m the TA for the Automotive Repair lab at Beacon Poly and I’ve been looking for a quick project for the more advanced students. We can get your starter changed out super fast, and since it’s a class assignment it’ll be free of charge. I mean, honestly, you’ll be doing us a favor.” She grinned hopefully at the other woman, leaning back against the doorframe.

Blake looked gobsmacked. “Really? You’d do that? Why?”

“Why not?” Yang smirked. When this wasn’t enough of an explanation to reassure Blake, she continued earnestly. “I like it when people don’t give up on machines just because they’re old. And you’re my sister’s favorite barista. I’d never hear the end of it if I left you standing in the cold.”

That surprised an honest laugh out of the brunette, a bit of the tiredness lifting from her face as she smiled hesitantly at Yang. “If you’re sure it won’t be a bother, that would be amazing.” She took a deep steadying breath, then set to gathering her things from the car and locking it up. Once she was finished, they stood awkwardly on the sidewalk for a moment, not quite looking at each other. “I’ll get walking then, I guess.”

Yang hoped fervently that the shadows of the night around her and the orange glow of the light overhead hid the color in her cheeks. “Or I could give you a ride? If you want?” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder to indicate her bike, parked towards the front of the now mostly empty parking lot. “I have a spare helmet.”

Blake paused, and then gave her another tiny smile and a nod. “I would really appreciate that, thanks. It’s not that far, but it’s also kind of cold out.” They walked together over to Yang’s motorcycle, the silence palpable but with a touch of camaraderie. 

When Yang presented Blake with the spare helmet— black with glittery red roses and a mohawk of red rubber spikes running down the center— the brunette laughed again, and Yang allowed her delight at the sound to overwhelm her embarrassment at the ridiculous helmet. “Ruby picked it out. She’s usually the one who rides with me, so I got a spare that she would like.”

Blake ran her hand along the rows of rubber spikes for a second before sliding it on and fastening it. “It’s certainly…. garish.” Her smile was crooked, her eyes glinting mischievously.

The blonde scrutinized her companion for a second. “One might even say it’s jarringly abrasive.” She quipped back and snorted. They shared a look weighted with recognition and appreciation.

Yang swung a leg over her bike, resting her weight easily. “Have you ever ridden a motorcycle before?”

“I’ve ridden a scooter. Same concept?” Blake zipped up her jacket, carefully tucking her scarf into her collar.

“Pretty much, just heavier and faster. You’ll want to hold onto me, so don’t be shy about that. I won’t break. Keep your center of gravity over the bike and lean with the turns. Where do you live?”

“On the corner of Paintbrush Lane and Maiden Way.” Blake swung her leg over in turn, that same dancer-fighter grace that Yang had noted earlier evident in the way that she perched lightly on the pillion seat. She was tentative when she placed her hands at Yang’s waist however, sitting far back against the back rest with her palms unassumingly pressed to the hips in front of her.

“That’s a good way to fall off. Here,” Yang gently caught the other woman’s slender wrists, tugging her forward a bit until her knees were level with Yang’s hips. She pressed Blake’s hands to the armoring of her motorcycle jacket over her belly and gave them a reassuring pat, an unspoken request to leave them there. Satisfied that they were both secure, she kicked her bike to life, backed out of the spot, and purred out of the parking lot.

It was a quick drive over to the neighborhood where Blake lived. In less than fifteen minutes they were cruising through the narrow tree lined streets, surrounded on all sides by houses built when Vale was first established as a town. They pulled up to the corner of Paintbrush and Maiden and Yang killed the engine, pulling off her helmet so she could get a better look at the big old house that Blake called home. She let out a low whistle.

“I have the attic room, and I share the place with three housemates. All boys.” Blake wrinkled her nose. “It’s a nice place though. Rent’s not going up because my friend’s dad owns it, and it’s quiet. I’m really lucky.” She slid off the bike, passing her helmet back to Yang, who had also stepped off so she could pop it back into the storage compartment behind the pillion seat. 

“I’ll text you tomorrow when your car is done, ok? Should be around 1:30.” Yang remounted, flipping her ponytail out of the way so she could slide her helmet onto her head smoothly.

“That would be great and all, but don’t you need my number to text me?” She said it casually, but Blake had that little smile on her face again that spoke of pure mischief. 

Yang swallowed, slapping the zipper pockets on her jacket in her hurry to find her scroll. “Oh fuck, is it in my bag? Just give me a minute.”

“Yang, just tell me your number. I’ll text you and then you’ll have mine.” The teasing in her tone was gentle. 

Yang flashed Blake a mischievous grin of her own. “Well damn. I guess you are always right.”

A momentary start and look of confusion, before recognition flashed across Blake’s face. She raised her eyebrows at Yang. “And don’t you forget it.”

As Yang recited her number, Blake calmly entered the digits into her scroll and sent a message. Half a second later, a cheerful text tone sounded from the depths of Yang’s gym bag. “There.” She slid the scroll into the pocket of her jeans. “Well, have a nice night.” She gave her another small smile and turned to walk up the dark pathway towards the wide front porch. Her slim, dark-clad form blended quickly into the night, and she moved as silently as a shadow. It was only when, in turning to give Yang a brief wave goodbye, the half-moon of her face and the golden glint of her eyes caught the spare light from the street, glowing like a vision in the darkness.

Yang waited until she was certain that the other woman had gotten inside safely before she threw her bike into gear and rode off into the night, the crisp breeze kissing her cheeks.

When she got back to the dorm and found her scroll, she had two texts from an unrecognized number.

**:Unknown: Hi, this is Blake.**

And then another, timestamped five minutes later.

**:Unknown: Thank you.**

**______________________________________________________________**

ART CORNER:

~[Workout Yang and Pyrrha](https://probably-momo.tumblr.com/post/633718757627494400/chapter-2-of-faults-enough-but-not-of) (actually the first time I drew Yang in the context of this fic)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR’S NOTES:  
> -Many, many thanks to @spoopsboops for her knowledge of AutoCAD, welding, and anything related to engines/auto repair.  
> -I enjoy the mental image of Yang going Cookie Monster on a Chalupa.  
> -I have very little experience with computer programming, and only slightly more with PC troubleshooting. I hope I’m a few steps past 90s hacker tropes.  
> -Yang maintains a small, poorly watered patch of self-worth, sustained largely by her appreciation of her own appearance. It’s not vanity so much as she doesn’t see what else she could bring to a relationship.  
> -Always. Sanitize. Your. Weights.  
> -@spoopsboops chose Yang’s motorcycle and helmet. Definitely not a strong hint towards what she wants for Christmas someday…  
> -I used to own this car. 1989 Honda Civic. I bought it for $500, which I could barely afford, and it 100% had every single one of these “quirks”. I loved that car.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RECOMMENDED LISTENING:  
> \- “Demons”, Wingtip

Listen to the Spotify playlist (curated by @spoopsboops) [HERE](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0NAkxw0y9KBjkbqX3Yum36?si=VzNzwC0FSL2tEGTxeRYx0Q).

Follow on [Tumblr](http://Www.probably-momo.tumblr.com) and [Instagram](http://Www.instagram.com/probably_momo) @probably_momo, for art and writing updates.

______________________________________________________________

Sun gave her a curious look when Blake turned down his offer of a ride home. The day had dawned overcast and now a light spring drizzle fell outside, not cold but not exactly welcoming either. 

“I need to get to campus early. I’m meeting someone about my car.” She kept her tone nonchalant, carefully pouring steamed half and half into her Earl Grey tea. The boys hadn’t noticed that she’d been dropped off the previous night, blessedly distracted by trying to kick each other's asses at Mario Kart 64 and saving her from a barrage of questions. This morning she had opted to ask Sun if he didn’t mind giving her a ride in his old pickup. He was sleepy enough that it hadn’t registered with him that this was strange until they had been at work for several hours and he had had at least seven shots of espresso.

“About that— where is your car anyway?” 

“I agreed to let the auto shop class fix some stuff on it. It was making some weird sounds yesterday.” The screw-top lid on her thermos was giving her some trouble. She swore under her breath when she splashed hot tea latte on her hand trying to remove it and put it back on straight.

Sun carefully took the thermos from her, ignoring the glare she leveled in his direction for daring to question her competence, even non-verbally, and adjusted the lid. “Okey dokey, if you say so. You know if you were having car trouble you could’ve asked Neptune and me to help out. We fixed my truck last summer.”

Blake snorted and snatched her latte back. “Yeah, you ‘fixed’ your truck all over the front lawn for like two months. I’d rather my car works as soon as possible, thanks.” She punched him gently in the shoulder and went into the back room to grab her coat and bag.

As she came out, Sun was leaning on the counter with his apron tossed over his shoulder, chatting cheerfully with Neptune. The new barista Ciel was carefully measuring ingredients for a blended beverage, pointedly ignoring her slacking supervisor and her off-duty coworker.

Blake gave them a wave and a smile, which Sun returned as Neptune flashed her an outrageous wink, and then pulled the hood up on her coat. She was grateful for the small umbrella she carried with her in the event of the frequent Vale downpours. They reminded her a bit of Menagerie, though the rain fell through crisp air here, not through suffocating humidity. She fumbled in her bag to find the umbrella, unfurling it as she stepped out from under the cover of the awning. It had been a gift from Ilia and was decorated with little pink paw prints— not exactly her style, but it made her happy when she used it. 

As she strode purposefully to the bus stop, she found herself smiling at the sound of the rain hitting the patterned material over her head. “April showers, May flowers…” The thought was a nice one. Winters here weren’t too cold, but the grey seemed to stretch on into infinity after four long months. Now that it was warming up outside the rain had a different taste to it, a promise of things to come. 

The bus was crowded with mid-day commuters, mostly college students on their way to the Beacon campus. Blake found herself jammed in a corner, surrounded by moist, oppressive humanity, remembering exactly how much she hated public transportation. Clinging to the grab-rail and pulling fruitlessly away from a fellow passenger’s sharp elbow digging into her kidney, she tried to focus on the moving scenery and what was ahead.

She had gotten a string of text messages from Yang in the morning when she had texted to ask when she should come by.

**:Yang: good morning blake?**

**:Yang: shit i meant !**

**:Yang: i dont txt great in the morning**

**:Yang: or like ever srry**

**:Yang: swing by around 1 we should have it done by then :)**

**:Blake: Ok, I’ll be there when I’m off work. Thanks again!**

She got off the bus with a throng of other students, pushed along for a moment in the small river of bodies before she came to rest against the bus shelter and could get her bearings. The Spring Hall, the vast modern building that housed the labs for all of the power technology courses, was on the other side of campus from the Autumn Hall. She hardly ever ventured across the sweeping lawn commons that spread through the middle of Beacon Tech campus, staying in the Fine Arts departments and occasionally attending required core classes in the Winter Hall. 

The Spring Hall had a sweeping asymmetrical roof of dull steel, while concrete pillars and steel-framed glass formed the facade of the building. A long row of roll-up garage doors on the side with the lower roof angle allowed exterior access and fresh air ventilation for the welding and auto shop labs. Blake could hear the grinding of metal and humming of compressors that signified intense mechanical industry. She wasn’t sure what she would encounter if she went around that way, so she opted to head through the front double doors and into the building itself. 

Blake paused momentarily to admire the obviously hand-crafted iron doors, their sweeping bent metal and cut out designs mimicking the exterior feel of the building. In spite of their surely immense weight they swung easily on their hinges, indicating that they were both beautiful to look at and well-engineered. 

Inside, the far wall of the lobby was taken up by a massive sculptural mural that appeared to be made entirely out of welded-together mechanical parts. The mural depicted a cityscape of Vale with the Emerald Forest in the background, shaped to the last roofline and tree from bolts, nuts, and a multitude of unrecognizable bits that she assumed were from the insides of engines and large industrial machinery. She stood admiring it for a long moment, in awe that such mundane objects could be elevated to art.

“Blake! What are you doing here?” The cheerful, familiar voice jerked her away from the welded art and she hurriedly looked around for its source. She wasn’t hard to find, though she looked very different from how Blake usually saw her. It would seem that, when Pyrrha wasn’t picking up her sleep-deprived boyfriend from coffee shops or working out in the gym, she wore grease stained maroon coveralls and kept her stunning red hair pulled back into a businesslike bun. There was a large smudge of something black across her nose, but her green eyes twinkled in delight as she approached.

“Oh, I’m supposed to be meeting someone in—“ She checked the most recent message from Yang, which contained a lab number and some cryptic instructions on how to find it once she arrived in the building. “—Lab 6? I’m not sure how to get there though, I’ve never been in here before.” 

Pyrrha halted in front of her, hands on her hips and a wide smile splitting her face. “It’s a fabulous coincidence that you ran into me, then. I have class in Lab 6 right now. I just ducked out to use the restroom.” She reached out and linked her arm with Blake’s, towing her down the hallway before Blake had even registered what was happening. 

As she half-skipped to catch up to Pyrrha’s long strides, Blake saw more of the same sort of welded and cut-out steel works hanging on the walls in the hall. “I love the art made from old parts and sheet metal, especially that mural in the lobby. Do they do that here?”

“Oh yeah, we sure do! That’s more my forte than engine mechanics and auto repair. I’m actually here on an art scholarship for my sculptural work, believe it or not.” The red-head gave a slightly self-deprecating laugh, “I helped Xanthe- Professor Rumpole, when she was finishing that beast. I TA the welding classes, because she trusts me not to set myself or anyone else on fire.”

Blake chuckled, falling into step alongside Pyrrha. She felt more comfortable in this new place with a friendly face to anchor herself. “That’s amazing Pyrrha, I didn’t know you were an artist!”

“Well I’m not betting on it to pay all of my bills, so I’m also getting as many certifications and classes under my belt as I can. But welding and fabrication are definitely still my passions.” As they approached the labs the ambient noise increased to a dull roar, until Pyrrha was half shouting to be heard. They stopped in front of an ordinary looking metal door with LAB 6 stenciled on it with yellow spray paint. 

“Oh! Ears!” This apparent non-sequitur sent Pyrrha rooting around in the pockets of her coveralls until she came up with a little plastic pouch, which she handed to Blake. Inside of it were a pair of neon green foam ear plugs, like the kind you might use if your bedmate snored too loudly. “Pop those in before we go through. I’ll get you some eye protection once we get inside.”

Blake did as instructed, and then curiously followed Pyrrha through the door and into the mysterious Lab 6. 

They stepped into a large concrete-floored room. Metal counters and cupboards, divided into work stations, ran the length of three walls, with businesslike tool racks mounted above them. As Blake had noted when she approached the building, the far wall was actually two metal-panel garage doors. They were currently rolled into the open position, allowing in the fresh, damp air to dilute the distinctive smell of fuel and the underlying tang of strong solvent. Four car lifts were spread evenly across the width of the room, two of them occupied by vehicles under repair. 

Recognizing the familiar white body of her Civic near the far wall, Blake set off across the room. Before she was halfway there, however, she realized that something was very wrong. She stopped dead in her tracks, staring aghast at what they had done to her car. 

“Blake! You need to put these on before you walk around in here!” Pyrrha had caught up with her, and pressed a pair of safety glasses into Blake’s numb fingers. Taking in her friend’s pallor and dumbfounded expression, Pyrrha frowned, glancing between the car and Blake. “What? What is it?”

“Its...Its doors are gone.” All four of the doors were off their hinges. One of her wheels was also entirely off and a large man was doing something in the wheel-well that seemed to involve quite a bit of swearing under his breath. He turned slightly, and she caught the profile of Yatsuhashi Daichi, familiar only insofar as he had been modeling for Coco for almost as long as Velvet had. Seeing him covered in the effluvium of her poor old car, his teeth gritted in frustration, gave her the instinctive urge to turn and run. She took an involuntary step backwards, and would’ve taken another if a fast-moving body hadn’t hurtled into her back right at that moment.

“Yatsu, I found the-OOOF!” Blake toppled forward, her unknown assailant landing on top of her in a pinwheel of sharp elbows and misplaced knees. Scrambling up, the person who had sent her unceremoniously crashing to the ground now grabbed at Blake’s arm and attempted to haul her back upright. “Oh crap, I’m so sorry! I wasn’t looking where I was going— I mean obviously I didn’t look where I was going, I wouldn’t have KO’ed you otherwise— but really, I’m super sorry, this is totally on me! Did I hurt you?”

Blake got her feet back under her with the help of Pyrrha and the human cannonball, assessing herself for any lasting damage. “I’m bruised, but I think I’m alright. Just be more careful, ok?” She got a look at her inadvertent attacker. The small, curvaceous woman with flame-orange hair cropped in a messy pixie cut, clad in dirty bubblegum pink coveralls, was gripping her arm tightly and almost buzzing with worried energy.

“Nora, you dropped your socket wrench.” Pyrrha offered the long-handled tool to the anxious red-head, deeply amused now that she wasn’t startled by Blake getting mowed down where she stood. “You’re really lucky Cordovin isn’t in the shop right now, she would kick you out on your ass.”

“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!” The roar echoed across the shop, sending the student working on the other car racing back to his station as Yang marched stormily towards them. She had obviously been in the middle of something, a heavy looking hammer in one hand and something that looked a bit like a large awl gripped in the other. She shook the hammer menacingly at Nora, glaring daggers. “We’ve talked about this, if you don’t want to hurt someone or get hurt yourself you need to stop charging around here like a bull in a gods-damned china shop!” 

Yang took in the tableau before her, sharp eyes catching Blake as she brushed at a swathe of dust on the knee of her jeans, Pyrrha holding the wrench, and Nora, now somehow looking both very innocent and very guilty at the same time. Yang dropped the hammer and metal punch onto a nearby tool cart, clearing the distance to Blake in a few strides and lightly slapping away Nora’s hand that was still gripping her forearm. “This is exactly why I’ve told you again and again to slow the hell down, Nora!” She growled at the redhead who was attempting to discreetly sidle away. “Are you sure you’re ok?” Yang gently rested one hand on Blake’s shoulder, concern in her violet eyes.

The blonde’s worry for her well-being brought a flush of color to her cheeks, and she nodded hurriedly in response to the query. She didn’t even object to the hand, an intrusion on her personal space that she normally would avoid. Then her mind slid back to the main question that had troubled her before the collision. She pointed at the deconstructed Honda on the lift. “Do you really need to take all of the doors off to fix a broken starter?”

“All the doors— What?” Yang turned to look at the car, then rounded on Nora’s retreating back again. “Why are all of the doors off!? I told you to install the refurbished starter and fix any little things you could find, not take it apart down to the frame!”

“They _were_ little things! Fixing the starter was so easy, I finished it in like fifteen minutes. I fixed the wiring on the windshield wipers and the headlights, and after that I was looking for other things to do and, well...” Nora reached over and grabbed the passenger side door from where it leaned against a tool cart, hauling it to stand in front of her. She then proceeded to roll down the window and look through it at Blake and Yang with what could only be described as a shit-eating grin plastered across her face. “Welcome to Valkyrie drive-thru mechanics, what can I do for you today?”

Blake blinked at her, thoroughly impressed in spite of herself. “Those window cranks haven’t worked at all since I bought the car. What else are you doing?” 

“I’m so glad you asked! You will notice that you have an actual door lock tab here now— pretty clever using the wood screw in the mechanism though, I’ve got to say. I machined one for this door and one for the passenger door, which I haven’t had a chance to install yet. ALSO,” She leaned the door back up against the tool cart, then reached over to grab Blake’s hand and tow her to the side of the car. “Yatsu noticed that your driver side CV joint was pretty much shot, so we’re replacing that too. We’ll take care of both of the front tires. Was there anything else?” She looked over at her lab partner.

The stoic man nodded towards the open hood. “Serpentine belt.”

“Oh yeah! We’re gonna put in a new serpentine belt too. I can’t imagine how obnoxious that squealing must have been, the poor thing looks like it’s going to crumble into bits any day now.” Nora propped her hands on her hips, entirely self-satisfied. 

“Soooo… When do I get my car back?” 

“Oh, uh, probably not until tomorrow? Sorry about that.” She looked sheepish. “We need to get all of this taken care of, and then get it all back together…”

Yang was unamused. “In the real world you have to take the client’s needs into consideration too. You’d be out of a job for going rogue like this.” She looked over at Blake, chagrined. “I’m really sorry, I should’ve been keeping a closer eye on their work. We can try to get your car put back together as soon as possible if it’s a huge inconvenience.”

“No, no it’s fine! I’m just… Wow. It’s basically going to be a new car when you guys are done with it.” Blake steeled herself, “So, uh, how much is this all going to cost?”

Nora snorted and winked at her. “Nothin’ to you, sweetheart. Yang was pretty explicit that this was specifically for extra credit and volunteer only, and no charge for material costs either. Yatsu and I basically don’t have to take our final because of your car!”

Yatsuhashi grunted at that, leveling his steady gaze on her. “I’m still going to take my final. You should too, you need the points.”

Nora squawked at him, finally accepting the wrench from Pyrrha only to turn and menace her lab partner with it. They fell into an easy banter, with Nora chattering at him and Yatsuhashi providing quiet but amused responses.

Yang turned to Blake, apologetic and a little anxious. “I’m glad it’s not going to make any problems for you, as long as you’re sure.”

Pyrrha smiled sunnily at the two of them, patting Yang solidly on the back. “It looks like you’ve got this handled. I’m going to go check in with Mercury on our project.” She waved at Blake and turned away, walking back to another lift and the man with silver hair who watched them with a palpable degree of annoyance— as if he hadn’t been gawking at the commotion caused by Nora’s collision with Blake only seconds before. 

Now left in relative solitude, Blake looked back at Yang, still feeling the flush on her cheeks. “This is really too much. I mean, I was ready to have to eat instant ramen for the next two months after paying for this. Are you sure I can’t do anything to repay you?”

It was Yang’s turn to blush, her gaze darting away from Blake as she cleared her throat. “Weeeellll… I do really like the burritos at Calavera’s. You could get me lunch?”

“HEY, WE DID ALL THE WORK WHY DOES YANG GET THE REWA—Mmmpf!” Nora was quickly muffled by Yatsuhashi’s large hand, and the big man gently dragged her around to the other side of the car with an apologetic nod to Blake.

Blake coughed to cover her embarrassment. “I think I can manage a burrito, for everything you’ve done.” She grinned, “Want to go now? I haven’t really eaten anything yet today, I’m starving.”

“Yeah, I’d love to!” Yang beamed back at her, stuffing her hands deep into her pockets in an obvious attempt to keep from fidgeting. “But, uh, I have to make sure the class here finishes up—“

“I’ll lock up for you! We all just have to tidy up a bit before we’re done. Just leave the keys in the office!” Pyrrha called over, lifting her head from the open engine compartment of the Jeep that she and her partner were working on. Seeing a flash of uncertainty on her friend’s face, Pyrrha adopted a mom-like pose with her hands on her hips. “I’m also a TA in this department, in case you forgot. I can make sure Nora doesn’t break anything just as well as you can.”

“HEY!”

Yang chuckled, shaking her head at the two of them. “I guess that will work just fine. Thanks Pyrr!”

“Well, that covers it then, right?” Blake looked at the blonde expectantly. ”Shall we?”

“Yeah! Yeah, let me just change out of my coveralls and grab my stuff and I’ll be good to go.” Yang motioned for her to follow, heading back to an office that was attached to the auto lab. There, she grabbed a pile of discarded clothing off the desk, depositing a key on a large fob where it had been. She also grabbed her motorcycle jacket and helmet, handing those to Blake. “Just hang out here for a second, I’ll be right back.”

Yang returned quickly, now wearing comfortable looking light wash jeans and a long sleeved heather grey henley, and she accepted the jacket and helmet back from Blake with a smile and a nod. “My bike’s out back. You can leave your safety glasses on the desk.”

The rain had let up when they stepped out through the open garage door. The air smelled fresh and clean, and watery golden sunlight filtered through the clouds to kiss the dripping trees and buildings. Yang led the way around the corner of the hall to a small staff parking lot. Sure enough there was her motorcycle, steaming in the warming air. With daylight, Blake could see that it was a beautiful machine of sloping chrome lines, the striking canary yellow paint job with black accents far from typical but undeniably Yang.

The blonde unlocked the storage box that was mounted above the rear wheel, removing the rubber-spiked helmet from the night before and handing it to Blake with a slightly sardonic smile. “Safety and style all rolled into one. You must be so stoked to ride with me.”

“You know, I think this might just become the next big thing.” Blake teased back as she fastened the strap beneath her chin. She waited until Yang mounted the bike to hop up onto the rear seat, steeling herself before sliding her hands around the other woman’s firm waist. There was a hard layer of muscle there, past the hem of the motorcycle jacket and covered by the sinfully soft fabric of her shirt. A momentary spark of lunacy rocketed through Blake’s mind, urging her to slide the shirt up and lay her palm against the sculpted planes of Yang’s belly... She shook her head as if to clear it and forced herself to shift her grip up higher, where the jacket protected Yang’s ribs from grinding asphalt and guilty roaming hands.

“Hold on tight, here we go!” Yang revved the engine, then pushed hard off the ground to send the bike and its passengers rolling out of the parking lot. Blake watched the scenery zip by, exhilarated by the sensation of flying down the road and the warm body of the beautiful woman in front of her. It wasn’t far to Calavera’s, but by the time they arrived Blake was short of breath, her cheeks flushed and her fingers and toes tingling from nerves mixed with delight. 

As soon as they parked she slid out of the seat, reaching out to accept Yang’s helmet as she pulled it off of her head. The blonde swung off of the motorcycle and went around to the back, opening the helmet compartment. Yang pulled a folded bag out of the hatch and held it out. Blake realized what was intended and obligingly slid the helmet into the specially made carrying case, then passed her own helmet over so that it could be locked away. That done, Yang slung the helmet bag over her shoulder on its long strap and led the way into the brightly painted restaurant.

Inside, the cheerful sound of accordion, trumpets, and guitars at a low volume mixed with running water from the fluted concrete fountain by the front door. A bell jingled in the vicinity of the distant kitchen, announcing their arrival. It also summoned a small silver-haired woman, seemingly from thin air, who hopped up onto a stool behind the counter and glared at them through very thick glasses.

“Hola Maria! How’re you doing today?” Yang was unfazed by the grouchy expression on the woman’s face, slinging a friendly arm around Blake’s shoulders to propel her towards the counter in spite of her momentary reluctance.

“Yang. It’s been over a week. I thought you must’ve finally managed to crash that awful noisy contraption of yours, and you were lying in traction somewhere and no one thought to tell the little old lady at the taqueria that she had lost her best customer. Ay, inconsiderate child.” She tutted disapprovingly at Yang, then turned her attention on Blake. In a second her expression changed from irritable to sly. “Now who is this? You have a young lady on your arm— tell me darling, how did you happen to end up in such bad company?” 

The abrupt change of the conversation from Yang to herself gave Blake momentary mental whiplash, and she floundered for a second as she tried to find an answer for the remarkable woman. “She’s helping me fix my car?” She didn’t know what else to say, but this assertion sent Maria Calavera into an inexplicable cackling fit that very nearly sent her tumbling off of the stool on which she perched.

“Fixing your car huh? That’s what the kids are calling it these days?” A small bony hand slapped the counter with overflowing mirth as the old woman cackled at her own joke.

Yang rolled her eyes in embarrassed frustration. “Maria, come on. We’re here for lunch. If you’re done freaking out my friend, can we maybe order something?” Whether it was conscious or not she moved so that she was slightly in front of Blake, redirecting the little proprietress’s attention back onto herself. “I’ll have my usual please, with sour cream and extra pico. Blake, do you need a minute or do you know what you want?”

Blake quickly glanced up at the menu board, scanning for something that sounded good amidst the plethora of options. “Uh, halibut tacos please? With no cilantro, if possible.”

“No cilantro?? What sort of person have you brought to my respectable restaurant, Yang? No cilantro! You might as well say no tortilla and just eat the fish with a knife and fork!” She squinted at the brunette in mock outrage.

Blake was caught between confusion and amusement, “I’m sorry, I really don’t like it. It tastes like soap to me. I’ve heard it’s genetic—“

“What will you be asking next, no avocado in the guacamole? No beans in the frijoles? Ay!”

“Maria, she said it’s genetic!” Yang yelped, cutting off the tirade. “Jeeze, do you have to do this every time I bring a friend here?”

“It’s my job, mija. It’s my duty as a little old busybody to embarrass you any chance I get. Besides, it builds character.” Maria winked at Blake, all feigned horror at her opinions on seasonings gone. “Now do you two want anything to drink? And who’s going to give me money for all of this?— Unless you’re splitting it of course, traditional choice for a first date.”

“It’s NOT a date, godsdamnit!” Yang was flushing almost fuschia now, arms crossed over her chest and obviously regretting her choice at a lunch venue. “I guess I’ll have a cola, please. Blake?”

“May I please have guava juice?” She turned and smiled at her companion. “I’ll pay, if you want to find us a table.” The blonde nodded, turning to flee towards the far side of the restaurant in obvious relief. Blake pulled out her wallet and handed Maria some of the loose bills from her tip money for the day. 

As the elderly proprietor handed the change back over, a little wrinkled hand caught Blake by the wrist and tugged her forward, close enough to catch Maria’s quiet voice. “You’ve got your hands full with that one, dear. But I think you know she’s worth the trouble.” She gently curled Blake’s fingers around the change, then turned to fetch their drinks.

Blake considered the woman’s words, a little thrown by the sentiment. She pulled herself out of her own head as two paper cups were offered, smiling in thanks before following Yang into the dining area.

She found Yang at a two-person table in the back corner of the restaurant, tucked behind a large broad-leaved palm. It was past the usual lunch hour and there were only two other patrons, spread well apart from each other and from Yang’s chosen table. She had removed the reinforced motorcycle jacket and draped it over the back of her chair, and her tousled golden locks had been freed from their ponytail. In the afternoon light from the nearby window she looked almost fragile, and the freckles that dusted her cheeks coupled with her lingering blush to make her seem younger. 

Blake set their drinks down on the table and Yang’s gaze flashed up to her face, the blonde’s expression relaxing from a worried frown into a gentle grin. Blake smiled back, shucking off her own light denim jacket before she plopped down into the opposite seat. “I can’t believe I’ve never eaten here before, it’s so close to campus. And Maria is such a character!” She laughed. “I like it here, thanks for suggesting it.”

Yang was visibly relieved by that, tension bleeding out of the lines of her body. “She’s definitely something alright. I’m glad you like it, in spite of the… warm welcome.” The sardonic crooked smile returned momentarily. “I’m honestly addicted to the burrito mojado. I don’t know what sort of black magic goes into the red sauce she pours over the top, but I do know I’d drink it like soup if that was an option.”

Blake snorted into her juice. “Wow, now that’s a mental image.” She rested her chin on her hand, letting her gaze fall on her companion. She felt so relaxed, something that would have shocked her when she first met Yang. Somehow, in their few interactions, she found herself drawn to this vivacious woman. She wanted to trust her, to relax her guard and just laugh and talk like a normal carefree college student… And why couldn’t she play that part, if just for a little while, in the orbit of this glowing star?

“Blake, you ok? You kinda zoned out for a little while.” Yang was peering at her, a touch of concern on her face.

“Yeah, sorry. I was up really early this morning, I guess I’m a little bit tired.” She rubbed her eyes, trying to pull her straying brain back into the present. As she blinked them clear, her gaze fell on the motorcycle jacket on the back of Yang’s chair. “That jacket is really well fitted on you. Was it custom made?”

The blonde glanced over her shoulder at the jacket, surprised. “Oh, thanks! Yeah, I had to special order it, they measured me and everything. I’m an unusual size, and it’s pretty important that your protective gear fits properly.” She tugged the garment free and held it out to Blake. “You can see how they placed the plates— it’s like body armor, but designed for how a moving body might collide with hard stationary objects.” That sounded almost bitter, but she moved past it quickly.

Blake took the jacket from Yang, turning the body of the garment inside out so that she could inspect how it had been constructed. The hard plates were sewn between two layers of a thick synthetic fabric, sculpted to protect the vital points on a body but also laid out so as to minimally restrict movement. It was lined with something that felt moisture-wicking and breathable. She turned it back the right way, and then ran her hand along the series of plates that stretched from elbow to wrist on the forearm. Curiously, she glanced back up at Yang.

“It’s instinctive to throw your arms up to protect your face— those keep you from tearing them up too badly. You never want to try to catch yourself with your hands. There’s no armor in existence that will protect you from shattering your hands or elbows if you land wrong in an accident. It can keep you from having to get skin grafts though, and that is definitely worth it.” Yang shrugged casually. “Humans are squishy and become even squishier when they’re traveling at a high velocity. It’s good to be aware of the dangers and take steps to avoid the worst damage in the event of something you can’t control. Physics, she is a cruel mistress.”

Blake’s fingers tightened involuntarily around the stiff fabric, the only thing that stood between Yang’s skin and violent injury. It was a lot to ask of a simple jacket. She carefully handed the important garment back to its owner.

From the kitchen a bell dinged and Maria’s scratchy voice rang out. “Yang! Your order is ready, don’t make an old blind lady have to bring it over to you!” They went up to get their food, and Maria pressed a small container of a red salsa into Blake’s hand. “Here mija, this one doesn’t have any cilantro. I’d rather you enjoy your food than suffer through it for the sake of a silly woman’s pride.” 

An unfamiliar bubble of warmth, uncomfortable but oddly reassuring, swelled beneath Blake’s ribcage as she accepted the little cup of sauce. “Thank you.”

They lost a few moments to the scramble to go pick up their trays, arranging food and drinks so that they fit on the small table and dashing off to grab cutlery and condiments. When they were seated again, they tucked into their meals with enthusiasm. Blake had eaten a granola bar as they opened the coffee shop, but that hardly counted as breakfast, and it was more than eight hours ago. The aroma that wafted off of her plate was absolutely delectable— the light batter on her halibut had a smell of cumin, chili, and garlic. The fish was accompanied by a fresh, crunchy cabbage slaw with pickled red onions, the sharp taste of the lime juice in the dressing cutting through any greasiness that the frying might have brought to the taco. She finished her first taco in two bites before she forced herself to slow down and savor the meal.

Yang cut into her burrito, clearly in food nirvana. The burrito was massive and smothered in a thick, vibrant red sauce. They ate in companionable silence for a couple of minutes, both women enjoying their food too much to break away for conversation.

When she was halfway through the monstrous burrito Yang paused, sighing contentedly. She looked across the table at Blake, who was in the middle of taking a slightly larger than polite bite of her last taco, and couldn’t seem to contain the laugh that bubbled up at the sight. She scrambled for a paper napkin as a blob of salsa dripped down the other woman’s chin. “I told you it was good!” Yang leaned forward and made a swipe with the napkin for the sauce on Blake’s face. “So, you go to Beacon Polytech right? What department are you in?”

Blake snatched the napkin with a mock indignant glare, carefully dabbing the streak of red away before she deigned to answer. “I’m in the fine arts department— fashion and design. It’s a far cry from what you’re used to, silk and chiffon instead of motor oil and steel.” She moved her plate so that she could lean forward on the table. “How did you get started in car repair? Especially to a point where you can TA a class as an undergrad.”

“Well, my dad owns an auto shop. Remember the hoodie?” Violet eyes wrinkled up in shared humor. “I’ve been around the insides of cars ever since I was little. And my mom was really into motorcycles… That’s how they met I guess, when they were young, dumb kids.” She shrugged dismissively. “Anyway, I’ve been working with my dad ever since I was big enough to stand on a box and look under a hood. He’d have me hold the flashlight, though I didn’t always point it at the right thing at first.” That thought brought a wistfully nostalgic tone to Yang’s voice, but she moved on so quickly that Blake almost thought she imagined it. “How about you? All I know about you is that you make a kick-ass caramel quadruple whatever and you shamelessly ply my sister with baked goods. Why are you interested in designing clothes?”

Blake paused, gazing into the middle distance for a moment as she considered how to answer the innocent-sounding question. “Well… I’ve been sewing since I was in middle school, though I was mostly focused on embroidery then. It was relaxing, it took me out of myself. I altered some clothes for my friends, which was fun… After high school, I got serious and realized that it was something that I was good at. Maybe good enough to do it for a job. I didn’t really understand what I was getting into at that point.” Her laugh was self-deprecating. “I didn’t have the passion for it that I do now certainly. I chose BAPT because it had a really well respected program. My parents liked that part at least. They didn’t like me uprooting myself from Menagerie and crossing an ocean and a continent to attend said well respected program, not that their objections changed my mind. Somehow I got a scholarship for my hastily cobbled-together portfolio of embroidery projects and my first few attempts at fashion sketching and garment construction. That got me through my first year at least, and I’ve managed to keep myself fed and under a roof with my job and student loans since then.” Blake bit her lip, blushing slightly. “Shit, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to unload a monologue on you there.”

“Nah, that’s really cool. Not everyone has the stereotypical ‘following in the footsteps of their parents’ justification for their career path. I think it’s really brave of you to break off on your own, do your own thing.”

That made Blake blush even more, knitting her fingers together in her lap. “Well I didn’t do it all on my own. My friend Ilia came with me— you might know her, actually, if you’ve ever been to the Crow Bar. She’s the short, red-haired bartender who looks like she wants to punch everyone all of the time.” She glanced up, grinning a bit. “She drove here with me, all of our stuff jammed into that little Honda.”

Yang was delighted by this revelation. “That’s why you’re so attached to that janky car!”

“Well yeah, I bought it from Ilia’s grandpa with money I’d managed to save on my own. It got me here. I guess I wouldn’t be who I am today if I didn’t have that car. Is that weird?”

“No way.” The blonde leaned back in her chair, studying her lunch companion. “There are loads of things I can point to and say, without hesitation, that I wouldn’t be the same if they hadn’t been in my life.”

Something intangible hung in the air between them for a long moment before Blake pulled her gaze away from the magnetic woman. She cleared her throat, feeling awkward. “Anyway, that’s basically my life story so you’re welcome. It’s not all that interesting.”

Yang snorted, “Yeah whatever!”

“It really isn’t! Right now the most interesting thing going on is that my professor is on my ass because she thinks I’m not going to be able to get my portfolio done before the end of the term…” Blake huffed in irritation. Then a light bulb blinked on. “Hey, you can totally say no to this, but would you be interested in modeling for my portfolio show? It wouldn’t be too much of a time commitment for you, just some measurements like for your jacket, then I’d have to make sure the clothes fit after I made them. After that it’s just showing up to the final event, wearing clothes, and walking down a runway.” 

Yang blinked at her, “What, really? I’ve never done anything like that before in my life.”

Blake’s shoulders pulled upwards with tension, “I know it’s a weird thing to ask someone I don’t really know. I’ve just run out of people to ask that I _do_ know… And I think you would do well at it, even if you’ve never done it before. You carry yourself with a lot of confidence. But like I said, you really don’t have to say yes if you’re not okay with it.”

“Sure, I’ll do it.” 

Blake blinked at the other woman in disbelief. She hadn’t thought that she would actually agree to it.

The smile Yang flashed at her was brilliant. “It sounds interesting, actually. And you’re in a bind, it would be shitty of me not to help out, especially if it’s really not all that much work on my part. Just wearing clothes and walking, right?”

“Well, mostly…” Blake didn’t want to be dishonest about the difficulty of modeling, but she also didn’t want to discourage the first person who ever responded to the request with enthusiasm. “I don’t think you’d have any problems with it anyway. But really, you don’t have to feel obligated. I can ask someone else, maybe Pyrrha would—“

“Hell no, no take backs! You’re gonna make me fancy clothes and I’m going to practice my best bitchy model face.” The blonde leaned forward on the table, a teasing glint in her eye.

“As long as you don’t coat yourself in self-tanner before wearing my clothes you can make any kind of face you want.” Blake flapped a hand in response to the confused look this comment earned her. “Sun modeled for me last year. On the bright side, I am now very well versed in removing stains from delicate fabric. But I can’t stand the smell of coconut oil anymore.”

______________________________________________________________

They agreed to meet the next day at the Autumn Hall so that Blake could get Yang’s measurements. Then Yang offered her a ride home, which she accepted enthusiastically. It would save her a bus ride and give her an excuse to snuggle up behind the gorgeous blonde for ten more minutes, under the pretense of motorcycle safety. Blake felt a little guilty about taking advantage of the situation for her own benefit, but the agreeable chuckle from Yang when she slipped her arms around the other woman’s waist told her that she might not be the only one enjoying the experience. 

The familiar drive back to Blake’s house seemed almost enchanted, people emerging from their houses after the rain like they were waking from a collective dream. Rain, dripping from the new spring leaves on the overhanging trees, sparkled like diamonds in the clear light, and even the air tasted fresh and green. When they pulled up in front of the big old house, Blake was reluctant to get off the motorcycle— part of her wanted to urge Yang to turn towards the highway and take off into the forest and the mountains beyond…

She slid off of the bike and unbuckled her helmet, handing it over to Yang. The blonde kicked out the stand for the bike, leaving it running as she popped the helmet back into the rear storage. She then hopped back on and flashed Blake a grin. “See you tomorrow afternoon!” Yang snapped the faceshield down on her helmet, nodded towards Blake, and rumbled away from the curb.

Blake watched as the yellow motorcycle disappeared around the corner, looking in the direction it had gone even after the sound of the engine fell into the distance. She shivered suddenly, not from cold, because the sun was bright and warm, but from the strange electric excitement that sparkled under her skin. Turning toward the house she rubbed her arms and then slapped her palms on her thighs, as though she was trying to wake up limbs that had fallen asleep. 

An irritatingly familiar red-haired figure lounged on the porch, watching as she approached. Scarlet draped himself across the ancient wicker loveseat, a physics textbook open in his lap and a mason jar full of something red and fruity in his right hand. As she approached he took a long drink from the jar, maintaining eye contact and raising his eyebrows at her significantly. He set his drink down on the mismatched wooden side table with a decisive clunk, then crossed his arms. “Sooooo…. When did you start hanging out with Yang Xiao Long?”

“She’s fixing my car. Why do you care, anyway?” Blake paused on the steps, her spine stiff with indignation.

“Well, it’s probably none of my business—“

“It’s DEFINITELY none of your business.”

“—BUT that one has quite the reputation around campus. From what I’ve heard, she eats girls like you for breakfast.”

Blake snorted, glaring daggers at the slender man. “Girls like me? Scarlet, you have absolutely no idea what kind of girl I am.” She marched up the remaining stairs, jerking the door open with much more force than was necessary. Halfway through the doorway, she turned back towards him. “Also, buy your own damn shampoo from now on.” The slam of the door behind her had a gratifying finality.

______________________________________________________________

Blake’s scroll buzzed from her nightstand as she was crawling into bed for the night. She snatched it up and was greeted by a text message from Ilia.

**:Ilia: I hate Friday nights. If I have to pour another shot of Fireball for another tipsy frat boy I will literally set someone on fire. Probably that frat boy. Please tell me your night is going better.**

She snorted, rolling onto her stomach with a pillow propping her up so that she had both hands free to text back. 

**:Blake: I’m pretty okay actually. Today was really nice. And I found another model for my portfolio show, so that’s a win.**

**:Ilia: YOU FOUND A MODEL!!! Fuck yes that’s my girl! Who are they? What are they like?**

**:Blake: She’s tall and blonde. And she’s fixing my car for me, so I guess she’s really nice?**

**:Ilia: Wait wait wait back up. Fixing your car? Or “fixing your car”? ;)**

**:Blake: When did that become a euphemism??? Fixing a car is fixing a car.**

**:Ilia: Everything is a euphemism. But seriously, why is this mystery woman fixing your car? And how did she end up agreeing to model for you?**

**:Blake: My car wouldn’t start last night and she saw me in the rec center parking lot trying to decide if I should find a cliff to push it off. She TA’s the car class so she offered to fix it up for me, as a learning tool for her students. And she ended up being my model because I asked if she would and she said yes.**

**:Ilia: I should be used to how cryptic you are by now. Fine, whatever, you asked and she said yes.**

**:Blake: Weird story though… We had a super awkward interaction at the coffee shop yesterday morning, way before the car thing. And she still offered to help.**

**:Ilia: I have a strange idea… Maybe she’s just a nice person?**

**:Blake: Scarlet told me that she has a reputation as a lady killer. Tried to warn me off or something.**

**:Ilia: Scarlet has no fucking room to slut-shame. I see him here with a different person every other week.**

**:Blake: Yeah, well. I’m taking her measurements tomorrow.**

**:Ilia: Oooh “taking her measurements” ;))))**

**:Blake: NOT EVERYTHING IS A EUPHEMISM**

**:Ilia: But she’s a babe, right?**

**:Blake: ....Yes, she’s a babe.**

______________________________________________________________

ART CORNER:

~[Dumb chibis of Yatsuhashi and Nora as the Best Auto Lab Partners Ever (tm)](https://probably-momo.tumblr.com/post/634273247578488832/chapter-3-of-faults-enough-but-not-of)

~[Maria has had enough of your shit, Yang.](https://probably-momo.tumblr.com/post/634273492383219712/chapter-3-of-faults-enough-but-not-of)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR’S NOTES:  
> -Menagerie in this universe combines elements of Indonesia, the Philippines, and Okinawa.  
> -BPAT Campus: Autumn Hall, fine arts; Spring Hall, power technology and engineering labs; Winter Hall, prerequisites and core curriculum classrooms; Summer Hall, computer labs and the Computer Sciences department, it also houses the main servers for the school and the Administrative Offices.  
> -Nod to @spoopsboops, who assistant teaches welding art (along with a shit ton of other power tech classes) at our local university. <3  
> -Had to get Xanthe Rumpole in here somewhere. She would be a kickass welding instructor.  
> -Not setting yourself or anyone else on fire is a very important teaching skill, not just for welding instructors.  
> -There are earplugs ALL OVER our apartment, it goes with the “fixing lots of shit all the time” territory. I have to stop our cats from eating one at least once a week.  
> -Of course Nora has pink coveralls. It’s aesthetic.  
> -Caroline Cordovin teaches automotive maintenance and repair. She is feared and respected for her tyrannical rule over her students and her shop.  
> -Yes, there was a wood screw in one of my car’s door locks. It was actually an upgrade from the folded piece of cereal box cardboard that originally held the lock in place.  
> -Blake is Pescatarian in this fic. Not that anyone asked, but she can’t have too much dairy without it upsetting her stomach. Half and half is lower lactose than regular milk, hence her tea latte choice.  
> -Writing about Blake and Yang casually going to a restaurant feels really uncomfortable right now, since I’m writing this in 2020 and I’m so conditioned by COVID safety concerns.  
> -You can immediately identify a sewing nerd by the fact that we turn garments inside out to see how they were constructed.  
> -And the Self-Tanner Incident comes to light. Sun was, to his credit, quite apologetic.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RECOMMENDED LISTENING:  
> \- “Unsaid”, flor  
> \- “Closer”, Tegan and Sara

Listen to the Spotify playlist (curated by the author’s wife, @spoopsboops) [HERE](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0NAkxw0y9KBjkbqX3Yum36?si=AqQwxVFKR_21jzXnwKOZLg).

Follow on [Tumblr](Probably_momo.tumblr.com) and [Instagram](http://Www.Instagram.com/probably_momo) @probably_momo, for art and writing updates.

_____________________________________________________________

  
The Spring Hall was quiet when Yang arrived early on Saturday morning, just the sounds of her footfalls on the hard concrete floors. Tai hadn’t objected when she asked for the weekend off. His smile was evident in his voice even on the scroll. “I’m glad you’re taking some time for yourself, sunshine. Have a good weekend.”

The distant buzz of a compressor and the arcing of a welder that told her Xanthe Rumpole was working on her day off too. She’d run into the small, serious woman a couple of times when she came in on the weekends, and had recognized a kindred goal-oriented spirit. Yang had taken a beginner welding course with Professor Rumpole, and appreciated her direct way of approaching difficult tasks. It was no wonder Pyrrha liked her so much.

She unlocked Lab 6 and pushed open the door to the empty shop, opting to find her way to the office in the semi-darkness rather than flick on the glaring overhead lighting right away. It was harsh enough when she first turned it on for her afternoon classes, but it would be almost unbearable to her in her semi-awake state. She changed into her coveralls in the shelter of the office, located all of her safety gear, and put a randomized vaporwave playlist onto her Bluetooth speaker before she steeled herself to turn on the fluorescent lights.

It was just as jarring as she knew it was going to be, and she swore under her breath as she crossed the shop to the lift that held Blake’s little battered Honda. Nora had texted Yang the night before to explain that she and Yatsu had managed to get the internal mechanisms of the doors finished, but they hadn’t actually gotten the doors back onto the car in the amount of time they had. And she hinted strongly that the front wheels were still off— which Yang could see for herself, as they were stacked on top of each other by the rear of the car. They had gotten the new CV joints in, at least. She had been able to interpret that much from the long string of texts, all caps and excessive punctuation, that Nora had sent to her around 11pm.

At least she could do all of the finishing touches without a spare pair of hands. From the look of it she would be done with just enough time to swing by her dorm to shower before she met up with Blake across campus. She set to putting the dismembered car back together again, feeling some grim humor at Nora’s thoroughness in seeking out things to repair. Blake really would be getting back a whole new car. She didn’t need to know that Yang was eating the cost of the spare parts, even though they were scrounged from the refurbished parts bins, or that people were usually charged a nominal hourly fee for the work of the student mechanics. The sadness on the woman’s face when she was faced with the prospect of her old car out of commission was enough to drive Yang to do this bit of largess. 

It was strange that she felt such a connection to Blake after so short a time. They had only really started talking to each other two days ago, though she had known Blake by sight for at least a few years from stopping at the coffee shop every so often. Now that they had built a friendly acquaintance, there was some sort of invisible common thread that Yang felt like an tug in the pit of her gut, pushing her to give something of herself to the enigmatic brunette. Yang rebelled against it, like she did against anything that suggested she should allow someone closer than arm's length, but it remained stubbornly present and sprung to yearning life whenever she was reminded of the other woman. It made her want to crush down against it, smoothly sidestep the burgeoning friendship and pretend that she had never meant to be anything more than familiar strangers. But she couldn’t do that. She had offered assistance with Blake’s portfolio project, and she definitely wouldn’t back out now that she knew how hard it had been for her to find another model.

That wasn’t the only reason she was denying her usual instincts to avoid emotional intimacy, but it was the only reason she would let herself acknowledge. Any other reasons were purely impulsive and didn’t deserve recognition at this point.

She installed the last tire, then stood back to admire the finished product. The doors and the tires were back on, and the windshield had gotten a solid wipedown care of Nora spilling coolant on it and having to clean it off. The rest of the car needed a good wash though, probably an interior vacuum too. She lowered the lift so that the car rested on all four of its tires, and went to go find a shopvac.

As she cleaned beneath the passenger seat something blocked the nozzle of the vacuum hose. She pulled back and powered it down, pulling free a glossy paper pamphlet from the dark recesses of the underseat area. _Enjoy Scenic Vale!_ read the title in a looping cursive font. It was obviously several years old, wrinkled, dusty, and faded, but when she opened it up she could see passages underlined and notes scribbled on the borders in careful handwriting. There was a section on Beacon Arts and Polytechnic University, circled in black with a large exclamation point next to it. Yang smiled at that, a moment frozen in time that signified a turning point in this other woman’s life. She pulled open the glove box to tuck it away safely, sliding the pamphlet in between the vehicle registration and the ancient owner’s manual. 

Yang poked around in the glovebox curiously, telling herself it wasn’t really snooping because she had put the pamphlet in there and everything else was pretty much in plain sight. It was a thin excuse, but she ignored her nagging conscience. 

There was the usual assortment of receipts, loose change, a purple lighter, and a tire pressure gauge. She also found a pair of buttery-soft black leather driving gloves with a fluffy fleece lining. She couldn’t help but run one glove through her fingers, enjoying the supple quality of the material. At the bottom there were a large number of unfamiliar, brightly wrapped fruit candies, probably a familiar sweet from Blake’s childhood in Menagerie. She picked one up, a stylized green melon on the wrapper indicating the flavor. Her curiosity overwhelmed her guilt and the unadvisable nature of helping herself to the contents of an acquaintance’s glove compartment, and she unwrapped the treat and popped it into her mouth. It was unlike any candy she’d ever had before, melon or otherwise. The taste was similar to the imported sodas in glass bottles that Ruby enjoyed, but pleasingly tart and somehow less sweet. It also reminded her of the tin of hard sweets that Summer had sent back for the girls to enjoy when she first was stationed in Menagerie during the civil unrest... Yang relished the nostalgic flavor of the candy as she finished vacuuming the car and stored the shopvac in the equipment closet.

The morning had dawned clear and bright, and it was promising to be unseasonably warm even this early in the day. Yang was grateful for the nice weather as she carefully drove the little Honda out of the garage, unrolled a hose and set to scrubbing off the layers of accumulated algae and grime. There were no hubcaps to polish, but she did spray off the tires to get them back to the original glossy black of the vulcanized rubber. The reward for her hard work was a car that looked several years younger than its actual age, with white paint that was no longer tinged green from the ever-present moisture of Vale and probably Menagerie, too. It was very gratifying to see all of the effort that had been put into the car highlighted by a fresh exterior. She understood why her dad always finished a tuneup for a customer’s car by giving it a quick spray-down and vacuum.

She had a little over an hour to kill before she needed to get across campus, enough time to take the Honda for a test drive and to swing by her dorm to freshen up after sweating through grease all morning. Yang went back through the shop and superficially tidied up the work area, leaving most of the heavy lifting to Nora and Yatsu when they got to class on Monday. She then returned to the office and changed back into her street clothes, turning off lights and carefully locking everything up behind her before slipping out the exterior door. 

The route that Yang chose for the test drive had a series of good hills, plenty of starts and stops, and finished with her taking the car on the freeway to get back over to Beacon campus. The car drove perfectly, the engine humming happily as she accelerated and braked. She even tested out the windshield wipers, pressing the spray button and admiring Nora’s thoroughness as they responded immediately and swiped the water away with measured strokes. By the time she pulled up in the parking lot beside the dorm she was glowing with self-satisfaction.

There wasn’t time for a shower, but Yang scrubbed aggressively at the smudges of dirt and grease on her forearms, neck and face, until her skin was pink and stinging and she was certain she wouldn’t transfer grime onto everything she touched. She also took a brush to her blunt fingernails, spending almost ten minutes on them before she gave up and decided they were good enough. The touch of black that ringed her nailbeds was pretty much indelible at this point, and she would just have to make her peace with that. She briefly considered putting together an outfit, but nixed that idea on the grounds that she didn’t want to make things weird by looking like she was expecting something more than what had already been discussed. She chose well-worn slim cut jeans and a long sleeved baseball tee with dark grey sleeves and collar and a line art graphic of a bird skull wreathed in roses on the front. It was casual and comfortable, but the way the fabric hugged her hips and shoulders boosted her confidence. She pulled her unruly hair back into a ponytail to keep it from getting in the way and slipped on her pair of pumpkin orange chucks. Grabbing her brown leather bomber jacket, she jogged out the door and down the stairs to the waiting car.

When she got to the Autumn Hall it was dark and the front doors were locked. Of course, Saturday. If there weren’t weekend classes scheduled it would make sense for them to lock the building up. The only building on campus that stayed open seven days a week was the Summer Hall, which housed the computer labs that the industrial design, engineering, and computer sciences students all needed constant access to. 

Yang pulled out her scroll and quickly fired off a message to Blake.

**:Yang: im here but its locked. where do i go?**

A second later her scroll chirped cheerfully to indicate a reply.

**:Blake: Come around the side of the building, there’s a stairwell door that’s unlocked. I’m on the third floor, Studio 1.**

Yang found the door easily and climbed the stairs to the third floor, her nerves jangling. She chided herself for her anxiety-- this was hardly the weirdest thing she had ever done and she really couldn’t mess it up. She just had to stand still and let Blake take her measurements and not say anything that would make it awkward. The last part would probably take a good deal more concentration than she was willing to admit, since her mouth tended to run away with her when she was nervous. She would just have to bite her tongue and not say anything at all, unless she was asked a question directly. With this plan of action in place, she strode down the hall with an air of confidence she hoped she could trick herself into feeling. When she reached the door with the small plaque reading “Studio 1” to its right, she gave a light knock to announce herself then pushed inside.

The studio space was bright and airy, the bank of tall windows at the far end of the room letting in ample sunlight and making the use of the overhead lighting all but unnecessary. Blake was seated at a worktable by the window in the southern corner of the room, drawing in a sketchbook. 

When Yang entered, she glanced up from her work, her face splitting into a wide, pleased smile of recognition. She stood and waved the blonde over, her posture relaxed and self-assured. She projected a calm confidence within the studio that was less present in her previous interactions with Yang. This was Blake’s home turf and she was in her element.

Yang couldn’t help but pause when she got up to Blake’s work station, taking in the sweeping view of the grassy, tree-lined commons at the center of the Beacon campus that the large windows and height of the building provided. She whistled low. “Quite a spot you’ve got here.”

“Thanks! It’s easier to work in natural light and I absolutely love the view. I’m so lucky to have this work station.” Blake gazed out for a moment, serenity etched in her features. Then she clapped her hands lightly, breaking the spell of semi-awkward silence that had stretched between them, and turned to Yang with a mischievous grin. “Alrighty then, are you ready to see if you measure up?”

The blonde tried not to swallow nervously, her returned smile not quite as convincing as she had hoped it would be. “As ready as I’ll ever be. What do you need me to do?”

Blake helped her shrug off her leather jacket, then directed her to stand by the end of the worktable. It was far enough from the window that she wouldn’t be backlit and the sunlight wouldn’t get into Blake’s eyes as she worked. “Don’t worry about having to do anything else at this point. I’ll tell you if I need you to move in a certain way, otherwise just try to relax.” She surveyed Yang’s form with a businesslike eye. “Thanks for wearing something form-fitting. I forgot to mention it, but it makes this whole process a lot easier.”

Yang nodded, biting her lower lip to keep from fidgeting and trying to stand as straight as possible as the tawny-eyed woman walked a slow circle around her, seeming to take in every detail of her figure and posture. She had never been looked at like this before, not like an object or a piece of meat, but almost like an open canvas waiting to be filled or raw marble to be turned into a sculpture. 

Blake flipped back a page in the sketchbook to a rough drawing of a feminine form with a passing resemblance to Yang. There was a long list of measurements to be taken, associated with lines drawn on the form. “If it’s alright with you, I’m going to record my voice with my scroll as I go. It will save us time in the moment, and it will give me a point of reference for the future if I’m uncertain about something I’ve written down.” The seamstress held up the device in her right hand, showing Yang the voice memo app that she had pulled up. The long yellow tape measure hung from her other hand, coiled for easy handling. “We won’t be able to talk much while I do the measurements, since I don’t want the recorder to miss anything, but if you feel uncomfortable at any point please let me know right away. Some of these are a bit awkward to do, and I don’t want to overstep any boundaries.”

“Sounds good, thanks. I should be fine.” Yang was pleased that her voice didn’t crack as she responded, in spite of the tension in her throat.

“I’ll work from your feet up, since that gets most of the awkward stuff out of the way early on. Let me know if anything is not-fine and I’ll give you space.” Blake grinned at her as she set the scroll down onto the work surface and pressed record in the app. She gave Yang’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze before dropping to her knees with a controlled, fluid grace. 

“Model, Yang Xiao Long. Measurements.” Her voice was precise and clear, ringing out through the empty room. The fabric tape measure stretched between her slender hands, resting lightly at Yang’s hip and the outside of her left ankle. “Outseam, 40 inches.”

Around her left ankle, just above the shoe. “Ankle, 11 inches circumference.”

Blake moved around in front of Yang, kneeling at her feet and smiling up at her. Yang’s traitorous heart skipped a beat. “Please spread your legs just a bit for me. This one gets a little bit personal, I need to get your inseam.” She obligingly stepped out so that her feet were a little wider than shoulder width apart, pointedly looking into the middle distance rather than at the pretty brunette crouched before her. 

In retrospect it would probably have been a good idea to keep an eye on what Blake was doing. The next destination of the tape measure was up at the top of her inner thigh, spanning down to her ankle, and Yang bit back a yelp as she tried not to jump away from the touch in spite of the advanced warning. 

“Inseam, 34 ½ inches. Are you ok?”

“I’m great. Sorry about that.” Yang gritted her teeth, having determined that watching Blake as she ran her hands around Yang’s now-oversensitized body would be slightly better than zoning out and jumping any time the other woman touched her. 

“Don’t worry, you’re not the first person to be startled by an inseam measurement.” There was humor in Blake’s soft voice and kindness in her eyes when she looked into Yang’s face. “Top of knee to ankle,” The tape slid down the front of Yang’s shin. “21 inches.”

She pushed herself up to standing, the motion measured and smooth. She was probably three or four inches shorter than Yang’s 5 feet 10 inches, tilting her chin to meet Yang’s eyes, but she seemed taller in spite of the physical comparison. It was probably the quiet certainty of purpose that surrounded her like a halo. “I’m going to do hip and waist measurements next.” 

Yang nodded, acknowledging the information. Guided by Blake’s competent hands, the tape measure encircled her hips, ghosting around the largest part of her butt and meeting in the middle a few inches under her bellybutton. A barely contained shiver ran down Yang’s spine.

“Hips, 39 inches.”

The tape moved up, finding the gentle concavity of Yang’s natural waist. “Waist, 30 inches.” Then, instead of moving further up her torso, Blake inexplicably pulled back. She straightened and paused, taking a deep breath. “Arms next I think. Would you please extend your right arm for me?”

Yang complied, stretching her rebuilt arm until it twinged. There was still a slight curve to her elbow, but she couldn’t move it past that point. She had maybe overdone it that morning, hurriedly lifting doors and reinstalling tires without much concern for proper ergonomics. 

“Can you straighten it?” Blake’s sharp eyes caught the bottom of the pale puckered scar that slashed its way up the inside of her forearm. She draped the tape around her neck, then reached out to gently grasp Yang’s wrist. With equal care, eyes darting up to Yang’s face as if to make sure she wasn’t overstepping, Blake pushed the sleeve upwards so that she could see the full ugly truth of her old injury. “How much does it limit your movement?”

The question startled Yang. Usually people asked how she had hurt herself (she didn’t want to talk about it) or if it hurt (yes, obviously). “Not— Not all that much. Sometimes it gets inflamed and makes it hard for me to stretch out, like today. I can’t twist my arm around too far, even on a good day, but my wrist works pretty well.”

“Are there any closure methods you prefer to avoid? Can you do buttons or snaps, or would you rather have zippers?” Yang appreciated that Blake didn’t run her fingers over the scar-thickened skin, as the deadened nerve endings in the area made the sensation of touch there particularly unpleasant. She did, however, carefully rotate Yang’s forearm on the elbow as much as her limited motion would allow. From there she could see the other scar, a smaller twin to the main surgical site on the inside of the forearm, and the thin line that marked where Yang’s elbow had been rebuilt.

“I can do buttons just fine, as long as I’m not rushed and they’re not too small. I prefer jackets that open at the front, not ones where I have to put my arms over my head to put them on. Same for tops, unless they’re stretchy like t-shirts. Sweatshirts are ok if they’re baggy enough. ” Yang did shiver this time, the gentle way that Blake handled her sending goosebumps up her skin. It was careful and thoughtful, but not pitying. She asked what she needed to know for practical reasons, and for once Yang didn’t feel backed into a corner when discussing her injury. When Blake let go of her wrist she still felt the clutch of fingers there like a warm, invisible band. 

“Let’s do your left arm then. Hold it there, thank you.” Blake had the tape measure in her hands once more, quickly capturing and noting the measurements of Yang’s wrist, forearm, elbow, and bicep. She prompted Yang to flex with that arm so that she could get an accurate measurement of the bicep at its largest, and the amount of surprise in her face as the muscle bulged beneath her fingers awakened a warm spark of pride within Yang. Blake remeasured the forearm too, as she saw the difference between the relaxed and activated muscles down the length of Yang’s arm. After getting a measurement around the shoulder and under the armpit, a very ticklish process, she ran the tape from shoulder to wrist and duly noted the length for later transcription.

“Stand as straight and as relaxed as you can please, I’m going to get your shoulder measurement.” Blake moved around behind Yang, letting her know where she stood with a gentle touch to her shoulder. The tape spanned from the tip of one shoulder blade to the other. “Shoulder to shoulder, 16.5 inches.” Her voice was still soothing, but there was an almost imperceptible change to the way she spoke. It was fading from businesslike and impersonal into something entranced and reverent, a little breathy.

“Your neck is next, let me know if this is uncomfortable.” Blake came back around in front of Yang, pulling the measuring tape in like a loose collar around the base of her throat. Yang wondered if she could feel the pounding of her pulse through the fabric of the tape, swallowing and feeling her throat expand against it. 

“Neck circumference, 14 inches.” Again Blake pulled back, not quite making eye contact with her model as she gathered the tape tidily in her hands. “I just have a few chest measurements to do, then we’re done.” Her voice was light, but there was a slight tremble to her hands now as she brought the tape around Yang’s ribcage, just under her breasts. “Underbust, 31 inches.”

The tape flicked up, right under her armpits, running parallel to her collarbone. Blake’s fingers were definitely trembling now, and she took a steadying breath before reciting clearly for the recording, “Overbust, 35 inches.”

There was nothing else left to measure. Yang felt the tape slide slowly down and tighten around the fullness of her breasts, Blake’s knuckles brushing them softly as she adjusted the fit. She held her breath, her eyes on Blake. The seamstress unconsciously pulled her lower lip between her teeth, lashes veiling her magnificent golden eyes. “Bust, 42 inches.”

The tape pooled off of her like water, but Blake seemed reluctant to leave her proximity. She stood for a second, her gaze running up to meet Yang’s, and for a brief, maddening moment Yang thought the other woman was going to kiss her. Then the tension snapped and Blake stepped away to the table, tapping the screen of her scroll to stop the recording. She fussed around, coiling up her tape and finding the right place to put it away in her sewing kit. Then she cleared her throat and turned back to Yang.

“Well, I think I’ve got what I need for now. Thank you so much for your help with this, I really appreciate it.” Blake’s tone was cheerful, but it sounded forced and the quaver was still there. She didn’t seem upset, just a little overwhelmed, and there was color high on her cheeks that Yang was sure mirrored that on her own face. 

“I— Yeah, yep, you’re welcome. Any time.” Yang stood awkwardly for a second, then turned to grab her jacket from where she had tossed it across the back of a chair. As she moved Blake also reached across to grab her sketchbook from the desk. 

The clunk that resonated from their foreheads colliding echoed through the studio.

“Ow, fuck. Are you ok?” Yang’s eyes watered and she blinked blearily at her companion.

Blake clutched her brow, and, inexplicably, began to laugh. “Oh my god, that was so stupid. That was so so stupid.” She wiped her eyes, bracing herself on the table as she continued to giggle. “I’m totally ok, don’t worry. How are you? That was loud.”

Yang peered at her, slightly worried that she had shaken something loose in the collision. “I’m fine. Blake, how many fingers am I holding up?”

The brunette snorted, punching Yang lightly in the left shoulder. “Something between one and five. Here.” She reached over and grabbed the leather jacket from the chair, handing it to Yang with a grin. 

“Thanks. And really, any time.” She slung the jacket over one shoulder and fished the keys for the Honda out of the pocket, tossing them across to Blake. “Your car is parked down in the main lot behind the building. If you have any other problems with it, just text or call.”

“Gods, I’d almost forgotten— thank you so much for that too. You are really saving my ass left and right.”

Yang shrugged and grinned, embarrassed at the praise. “Glad I could help. Well, I’d better get going…” She turned and crossed the classroom to the door. As she touched the handle she stopped, turning back towards Blake. Before she could change her mind and trying desperately to sound casual, she blurted, “Hey, so...are you doing anything later tonight? Because it’s the trivia final at the Crow Bar at 7. Pyrrha and Ruby and Jaune are all going to be there. So is Nora, I don’t know if that’s a selling point though. Anyway, what I’m saying is, it would be really cool if you could come. You know, if you’re not busy.” 

Blake gazed at her from across the room, still leaning back against the work table. After a moment of silence, probably spent processing the wall of word vomit that Yang had thrown at her, she tentatively smiled and nodded. “That actually sounds great. I haven’t been out in… Fuck, like three years. I’ll see you at seven?”

“Great? Great! See you then!” Yang spun and yanked the door open, practically dashing out before she could do anything else to make the situation more awkward.

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Blake sank onto her stool, letting out a breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding. Tension bled out of her with the air, leaving her boneless and exhausted. 

There were two things this interaction had clearly demonstrated. Thing One: she was decidedly attracted to Yang, in a way that she hadn’t let herself feel towards anyone since the ill-advised thing that she and Ilia had shared a few years ago. She gave herself a moment to consider this circumstance, now laid bare in the unforgiving light of reason. It didn’t make her as uncomfortable as she had previously thought it might, and she recognized that she did not have to do anything about this new realization unless Yang expressed a similar emotion.

Which brought her to Thing Two: from the way she had reacted to Blake’s hands on her body, Yang was definitely feeling something for her in return. She wasn’t sure what it was yet, she wasn’t even sure if Yang knew what it was, but there was a palpable dynamic between them that hadn’t existed before.

And she had just agreed to go to a bar, to trivia night, with Yang. She scrambled for her scroll.

**:Blake: I’m coming to trivia tonight.**

The message blinked to ‘read’ quickly, followed almost immediately by Ilia’s response.

**:Ilia: Why the fuck are you doing that? You hate trivia.**

**:Blake: I think I found something I like more than I hate trivia.**

**:Ilia: ...Are you really going to leave it on that note. Who are we talking about here? Why do you do this to me? You know I hate mysteries!**

**:Blake: Obviously I like driving you crazy. :) Remember the car fixing babe?**

**:Ilia: She asked you out???? Score!!**

**:Blake: Well, not really in so many words. But she invited me to go to a bar with her. And a half dozen of her closest friends.**

**:Ilia: Well damn! Did you tell her you don’t drink?**

**:Blake: Didn’t really have time for that, since she asked me right as she was leaving and was out the door as soon as I said yes. Is that usually a problem?**

**:Ilia: Dunno, depends on the person. But if she’s shitty I’ll make her ‘disappear’.**

**:Blake: It’s good to know we have a firm friendship, solidly based in death threats.**

Blake smiled at her scroll, gazed out the window at the rolling green of the university commons. It was mid-afternoon and the shadows of the trees were stretching out across the grass. A few students sat out on the grass on blankets, studying, talking, or napping. The scroll vibrated in her hand.

**:Ilia: So I take it the measurements went well?**

**:Blake: Shit, Ilia. After that fitting I need a cigarette.**

**:Ilia: Blake, of all your vices you have never smoked in your life.**

**:Blake: Yeah, but THAT FITTING**

**:Ilia: If that’s how she’s got you feeling, I’m stoked to meet this girl IRL tonight.**

**:Blake: Please don’t antagonize her.**

**:Ilia: Don’t worry, I won’t cockblock you. Besides, I probably already know her. She’s in the trivia finals which means she’s been coming to the bar at least once a week for the last month and a half.**

**:Blake: Oh great, I’m sure you two are already good buddies. What did I sign up for tonight?**

**:Ilia: Don’t even think of backing out. I know you and social situations, but I am not giving up the opportunity to see you awkwardly flirt with someone for ANYTHING. Even if I have to drag you there myself.**

**:Blake: I’ll be there. Just regretting my choice of friends.**

**:Ilia: You know you love me.**

Groaning, Blake reached over and grabbed her sketchbook and a pencil. She still needed to transcribe the measurements she had dictated. She might even have time to get a few design sketches down while Yang’s form was still fresh in her mind. 

An hour or so later she leaned back on her chair, stretching out neck and shoulder muscles cramped from hunching over her sketchbook. Blake tidied up the area quickly, and walked down the back stairs with a cheerful swing in her step.

Blake approached the parking lot, peering around for her car. She almost walked right past it, not recognizing it without the familiar layer of green that had coated the car for as long as she had owned it. If she had known that it would make such a difference, she would’ve taken it through a car wash years ago. She unlocked it and slid inside, noticing that the interior had been vacuumed out too. Well that was only slightly mortifying— she wondered how many pounds of granola bar crumbles had been removed from her seat cushions.

The little Honda started smoothly, the engine almost purring as she backed it out of the space and pulled out of the lot. Blake grinned in pleasure and reached for the newly-repaired window crank, rolling down the driver’s side window for the first time ever. The fresh breeze on her face felt delicious. She stuck her left arm out the window as she drove, delighting in the sensation of warm sun and cool air on her skin. 

______________________________________________________________

ART CORNER:

  * [The contents of Blake’s glove compartment](https://probably-momo.tumblr.com/post/634886871001989120/the-some-of-the-contents-of-blakes-glove)
  * [Blake and Yang, caught up in the moment](https://probably-momo.tumblr.com/post/634887038473273344/sometimes-the-moment-just-takes-you-a)



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR’S NOTES:  
> \- Tai went through some rough times over the years, but he’s an awesome dad. 100% living a Taiyang appreciation life.  
> \- Don’t eat things out of random glove boxes, kids. That’s how you get kidnapped by faeries.  
> \- Blunt fingernails are Important.  
> \- There are less… personal ways to take measurements. But where’s the fun in that?  
> \- Yang didn’t lose her arm in this, but it is mostly metal at this point. I’ve based her surgical scarring and movement limitations on a friend who got in a really nasty motorcycle accident ten years ago.  
> \- I’m so happy that y’all seem to love Ilia as much as I do.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ilia is happy that Blake is happy. But she wishes it didn’t feel so crappy to be happy for her friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RECOMMENDED LISTENING:  
> \- “Somebody Else”, The 1975

Listen to the Spotify playlist (curated by the author’s wife, @spoopsboops) [HERE](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0NAkxw0y9KBjkbqX3Yum36?si=_V8VgyCTQAiXreIBqCmRtQ).

Follow on Tumblr and Instagram @probably_momo, for art and writing updates.

______________________________________________________________

Around 5:30pm the trivia crowd began to filter in by ones, twos, and small groups-- discernible from the regular Friday night university rabble by their tendency, in most cases, to order something other than well booze or domestic beer, and in other cases by the fact that they loudly announced they were there for the trivia finals and where should they sit? They could sit wherever they wanted as long as they ordered something, which didn’t seem to be the answer they were looking for but Ilia didn’t give a shit. She had a floor to manage and an overly-friendly trainee to keep an eye on, and it was shaping up to be almost as busy as the last Vytal Festival playoffs.

The regulars knew the ins and outs of the prickly bartender, either finding her personality endearing or ordering their drinks and getting out of her way as quickly as possible. She went a little easier on new patrons, giving them at least a few visits of leeway to get their stupid questions and horrible drink orders out of their system. The Crow Bar was close to Beacon campus and hosted a wide variety of events for students and faculty, and the whole population of the university came through their doors at some point or other.

Case in point was the quiet young man sitting at the far corner of the counter, seeming to be lost in thought while his pale hazel eyes took in everything around him. Ilia smiled at him as she passed, carrying a pitcher filled with lite beer dujour in one hand and a stack of pint glasses in the other.

“Can I get anything for you Oscar? Another whiskey soda?”

The BPA Chancellor gave her a smile back, shaking his head in response rather than attempting to shout over the raucous crowd. Most would overlook the slight man; at first glance he looked like he was barely out of high school, and in truth he was only a few years older than that. Few knew what had inspired the previous Chancellor to name Oscar Pine as the choice for his successor to the board, or what inspired the board to go along with the nomination (though by a very narrow majority, Ilia had heard). He was the youngest Doctorate in Computer Sciences to be awarded at the University of Mistral, and now was the youngest person ever to hold his current position. Ilia knew he also lectured the advanced computer sciences courses at Beacon Polytechnic, and she was slightly curious how most of the grad students accepted having an advisor who was several years their junior.

But she knew what it was like to be regularly underestimated, and she knew that it could be both a blessing and curse. If you knew what you were doing you could take people by surprise and gain the upper hand, but the constant daily battle against preconceptions could drag you down and tear you apart, piece by piece. She found that belligerent, 250 pound bros would talk a big game, but when the tiny woman asking them to please get the fuck out of her bar was able to back up her request by bodily walking them out in an armlock, they quickly changed their tune. Oscar had to fight against his size, his apparent and actual youth, his pretty face, and his introverted tendencies. So many things that would make the loud bullies of the world feel like they could walk all over him. Somehow he held on, and he stopped by early on Friday evenings for a drink and some peace through anonymity before the rowdy horde descended.

As she returned to the bar he caught her eye, tapped a bill on the counter, and then slid away into the gathering night, leaving a very handsome tip behind with his melting ice.

Ilia bussed and wiped the counter quickly, and the seat was filled in no time as several loud individuals claimed spots at the bar and called for shots. She ignored them pointedly— Neon could handle it just fine, and the orders were stacking up for things that were more complicated than pouring a shot of Fireball or pulling a pint. She had made the executive decision that the blenders would all be mysteriously out of order tonight, so she only had to deal with requests for increasingly obscure mixed drinks from arts majors who were trying to substitute pretension for personality. 

“An Angostura Sour?? Who the hell...” She peered around the bar at the usual suspects, trying to figure out who looked the most unrepentant. “Neptune, no. I literally have one bottle of Angostura bitters until the shipment arrives next week. I’m not making you a drink that calls for a full ounce and a half of it, and you probably wouldn’t want to pay the fifteen lien I’d charge you for it either. How about a nice normal whiskey sour, and we can all just pretend you ordered something profound and thrilling?”

The blue haired man laughed and flipped her off, which she returned in good humor. He didn’t complain when she dropped the whiskey sour off a few moments later, which showed good sense. People who complained about Ilia’s drinks usually left wearing them. 

“Who even told you about an Angostura Sour anyway? No way you came up with that on your own, mister lager and a shot.” She called after his retreating back, grinning as the other regulars laughed at their fellow’s misfortune. 

She caught sight of Blake, who was standing stiffly next to the table where Sun and Neptune had laid their claim. When their eyes met, the brunette smiled and gave her a little wave. Ilia waved back, ignoring the familiar tender glow that warmed the pit of her stomach whenever she saw her friend. Their ill-suited relationship had ended on mutually agreeable terms, their friendship made stronger by the knowledge that they simply did not work as anything more. But her heart, her stupid, stupid heart, still skipped a beat whenever Blake smiled at her.

The object of her misplaced affections waited for there to be a lull at the bar, then picked her way over and hopped onto a stool. Ilia added a few dashes of bitters to a glass of soda water and ice, garnished it with a slice of lemon, and placed it in front of Blake with a wink. “I take it your auto shop babe isn’t here yet?”

“Shhhh! Gah, why do I tell you anything?? No, Yang’s not here yet, but I am pretty early. She said it didn’t start til seven but when the guys found out I was planning to go they pestered me to give them a ride. Apparently all of the good seats get taken by 6:30 so obviously we had to get here by six…” She sighed, nibbling on her straw and gazing around the room uneasily. Blake had never enjoyed crowds, even when Ilia first met her in the Fang. She could put on a brave face and pretend to be enjoying herself, but inside she was always looking for an exit. It said a lot that she was willing to go to a bar on a busy night just to spend some time with this girl.

“I hope she’s worth it.”

“Me too. I mean, I think she is but… Me too.”

Ilia gave Blake a crooked half-smile, then turned away to take the orders of another wave of people as they queued forward. If she was being honest with herself, the thought of this mysterious other woman had suddenly made her feel like she’d eaten a bag of sand with a lead chaser. But she never had been honest with herself before, so why start now? She watched the doorway over the heads of her customers, wondering with each arrival if they were the one that had so quickly caught the attention of her reclusive best friend and former lover. But then the drink orders piled up and she had to keep her chin down, measuring and shaking and garnishing to fight back the onrushing tide.

When she reached another moment of relative calm, Blake was gone from the bar. Ilia scanned the crowd, finding the brunette now being excitedly embraced by an energetic redhead— Nora, she knew from witnessing previous evenings of bacchanalian revelry gone wrong. Her tall, silent shadow was Ren, his usual order a glass of top-shelf scotch and a nice tip to go with whatever godawful concoction of energy drink and flavored vodka he was picking up for Nora. The other girl, bouncing on the balls of her feet in poorly contained glee, was Ruby. She would likely have whatever Nora was having, sipping at her hangover in a glass while her friend polished them off with speed and style. 

Neptune and Sun’s booth had gained a new addition as well. The white-blonde woman sipped a cosmopolitan, pointedly ignoring her table mates in favor of watching the room with an air of feigned disinterest. She was on their trivia team by a swing of fate, as she apparently had been briefly dating Neptune when the teams were formed, and she seemed to have some stubborn or self-destructive need to see the train wreck through to its end. In the month and a half of Fridays that she had been coming to the Crow Bar, she had never introduced herself to the bartenders. Some of the others called her Ice Queen, but Ilia was certain her silence came more from her discomfort in the circumstances than any desire to be aloof or snobbish. 

This suspicion seemed to be confirmed as the pale woman greeted Blake with genuine warmth and delight. Having someone to talk to that wasn’t either of her team mates (who now seemed to be having a cross between a coaster-stacking competition and a wrestling match in their booth), she blossomed like a flower in spring, allowing herself to be properly introduced to the members of the other trivia teams she had been competing against for weeks. She struck up what looked to be a surprisingly pleasant conversation with Ren. He was the other outlier, sharing a team with the human hurricane that was Ruby and his probably-definitely girlfriend Nora. 

Two more arrived and the top three teams for the trivia finals were almost assembled. The exhausted looking man in scrubs, Jaune, collapsed into a chair at a table that Ruby had been ferociously guarding. He smiled affectionately up at his statuesque companion, who gently squeezed his shoulder before pushing her way to the bar to order their drinks. Pyrrha looked like she should be modeling for an athletic wear brand, tall and muscular and uncannily gorgeous-- every bartender at Crow Bar admitted to having some degree of a crush on her, especially since she seemed to be a genuinely kind person on top of her jaw-dropping good looks. Ilia had a glass of house white wine and a Roy Rogers on the bar waiting for her by the time she made it to the counter.

Pyrrha laughed, pulling a few lien from her wallet. “I don’t know how you remember us with all of the other drink orders you must have memorized. Thank you.”

Ilia couldn’t help but smile up at the tall redhead, warmed by the kind words in spite of herself. “It’s just a knack I have. Besides, you make an impression.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment!” She collected the drinks, flashing the petite bartender another brilliant grin before she elbowed her way through the crowd back to the group.

The antique clock over the bar read 6:50pm and Bart Oobleck was in the process of getting his scoreboard and sound system set up when the last of the competitors banged through the door, looking a bit harried. Ilia had never caught the tall blonde’s name, but she knew that there was a betting pool among her coworkers as to when she would end up taking one of them home. She flirted outrageously and indiscriminately with any of the girls and bantered and joked with the guys, but somehow she had managed not to share anything about herself other than her drink order-- the hoppiest beer they had on tap, or a shot of whiskey to celebrate when her team won. 

Her arrival elicited a barrage of whoops and teasing comments from the other members of the top three teams, which she returned distractedly, scanning the faces until she caught sight of Blake. As their eyes met, the blonde’s face broke into a grin like a sunbeam and Blake smiled back, her cheeks flushing slightly in embarrassed pleasure. Blake stood and met the other woman as she approached, returning her enthusiastic hug and then gesturing towards the bar. As the two turned to come over, Ilia ducked down behind the counter, bending to lift a tray of glasses out of the sanitizer and getting her emotions under control. 

This had to be Blake’s new model and automotive knight in shining armor. She took a steadying breath then hefted the heavy load of dishes up onto the counter, schooling her face carefully neutral. Ilia snagged a clean bar towel and set to drying off the glasses so they could be put away. When the two women reached her she tried to look pleasantly interested, battling to keep the agitation out of her posture and voice.

“You must be Yang. It’s nice to finally be properly introduced.”

Yang looked a bit sheepish, tucking her hands into her jeans pockets and shrugging her shoulders. “Uh, hi. I guess it never came up before, huh? It’s nice to officially meet you, too. Blake said she had a friend who worked here, it definitely makes sense that it’s you.”

Blake laughed, elbowing her companion. “What is that supposed to mean?”

The taller woman dodged a second dig at her sensitive ribs, chuckling. “Whoa, hey! I mean she’s got the same kind of ‘melt you with her eyeballs’ stare as you- Ouch! Lemme finish!- AND she seems to have a tough exterior with a heart of gold.” Purple eyes looked pleadingly at Ilia. “Help me out here, I’m trying to give you a compliment.”

Ilia snorted, setting down the bar towel and reaching for a pint glass. “I’m not going to get involved. I know exactly how bony those elbows are and she’s had years of experience to learn my soft spots. Do you want a pint? We have the Sumire Snap Pale and the Beowolf Bite from Vacuo on tap.”

“See, a heart of gold. I’ll take the Beowolf please.” She slid some lien across the counter as Ilia pulled the beer. “Thanks!” The brimming pint glass was received with a grin and a nod, and she quickly sipped it down so she could walk with it, relishing the sharp golden brew.

“I don’t know how you can drink that stuff,” Blake gave the glass a disgusted look. “It’s so bitter it could melt your tastebuds off.”

“I’d say it was because I had a discerning palate, but that would be a lie. I drink crappy beer too, if it’s all that’s available. Honestly though, I like it-- it’s like black coffee, the bitter plays with the other flavors and makes them better.” She looked thoughtful, taking another pull from her glass as she contemplated.

“It’s an important quality.” Ilia broke in. “Like cilantro on top of beef noodle soup, it balances everything out.” She grinned mischievously as Blake made a face at the mention of her least favorite herb. 

Yang bumped Blake with her shoulder, chuckling softly. “Sometimes things that aren’t usually pleasant can be enjoyable in the right context.” 

The brunette’s face was nonchalant and she gave Yang a sidelong look. “Oh, I am very good at context.” Yang choked on her next sip, coughing explosively.

Ilia looked away, the dynamic between the two making her feel peripheral. “The event is going to start any minute, you should probably go get ready. It was nice to meet you.”

Yang gasped for a second, glaring at Blake as the other woman laughed at her misfortune. “Good to finally meet you too, Ilia. Thanks again.” As they headed back to the table, Ilia could hear Yang good-naturedly admonishing her still-giggling companion. “Oh c’mon, it really wasn’t that funny.”

Ilia stood for a moment, gazing distractedly at the counter and groping for the abandoned bar towel to finish drying the glasses. She didn’t think it would bother her— she’d told herself it wouldn’t bother her— but here she was, getting her panties in a twist over her ex-lover’s new flame. This was what she had wanted for Blake, what she’d encouraged her to do. Ilia had had her share of flings since they broke up, not often but often enough to keep her satisfied. But as far as she knew, Blake hadn’t seen anyone other than her since Adam. It was a sign of healing, of personal growth. She should be happy for her friend.

She was not happy, and she strongly disliked herself for it. She set to drowning out her battling inner voices by working through the throng of patrons, bantering and snarking and mixing drinks with extra fervor. With the sixth order for a Bloody Mary, she loudly declared them to be entirely out of Bloody Marys, ignoring the full container of tomato juice in her hands. There was too much shit to do to have to mix together ten ingredients for the bar’s signature drink. They could make do with a vodka cranberry or have nothing at all.

Over the general hubbub, Bartholomew Oobleck’s voice boomed out on the loudspeaker. “Good evening, fine patrons of the Crow Bar! As some or most of you might know, tonight is the night where our Masters of Minutiae, Innovators of Intellect, our Titans of Trivia will go head to head in a knock-down, drag-out, winner takes all BATTLE OF THE BRAINS! Are you ready to see these final three teams battle to best the Queen of Quandary Herself— THE MOTHERMIND?”

A half-assed cheer rippled through the assembled patrons. 

“Surely you can do better than that! Half of you have stood against the MotherMind yourselves, and you know the gargantuan task they face. Let’s get some energy going— ARE YOU READY?!”

The cheer was more enthusiastic this time, as everyone started to buy into the mood. Ilia smirked. Of course Bart had given a ridiculous name to the trivia generator he had designed. He had bragged about testing it at the end of every term with his Computational Analytics classes, offering extra credit to the teams of students who could last the longest against the super-fast query generation algorithms built into the dedicated laptop. He had dressed it up in an elaborate case, designed to look like a piece of futuristic technology and complete with flashing LED lights that signified nothing but definitely looked cool.

“In the far corner, our vivid, dashing gentlemen and lady in white— 2LEGIT2QUIT!” Sun and Neptune cheered raucously, Sun standing up and gesturing for the crowd to start pounding their tables in unison. It started rhythmic, but turned into sheer cacophony after a minute. The pale woman looked resigned, leaning back in her chair with her arms crossed.

“Here at the center, always a crowd favorite— THE CHAOS MUPPETS! And Ren!” Ruby and Nora jumped up and down, waving their arms above their heads and letting out a shrill howl like a pair of banshees. Ren, for his part, smiled politely and waved at the hyped-up crowd.

“Finally, not to be ignored, the bombshells of the back booth and their handsome hunk— PERCUSSIVE MAINTENANCE!” Pyrrha cheered and waved, and Jaune grinned from his seat, blushing a bit at the compliment. Yang was stuck in the corner of the booth, but she got around that by planting a foot on the bench and hoisting herself above the crowd, pumping a fist in the air. Blake laughed, clapping and whooping along with the crowd, reaching up to steady Yang as she slid back into her seat, and keeping Yang from landing on top of her as she misjudged the movement. The two caught each other’s eye for a moment, Blake’s hand braced on Yang’s forearm, then quickly moved apart to settle in their spots and pretend that nothing had happened.

Ilia looked away, her chest feeling tight. She slid over to where Neon was chatting up a pretty blonde patron with a teal shirt that read “Mermaids Do It Better”. 

“I’m gonna go on my ten. Can I bum a cigarette?”

Neon shot her a glance, eyebrows raised, but went in back to find her bag without making a comment. Thank Gods. Ilia was about three seconds away from sucker punching the next person who looked at her funny, and she really didn’t want it to be her sarcastic but generally friendly new coworker. She also really didn’t need to have another conversation about _sensitivity_ and _not intimidating your coworkers_ with her boss Malachite. 

She accepted the lighter (which was emblazoned with a kitten riding a unicorn over a rainbow) and cigarette from Neon, nodding her thanks with a tight smile. Ilia slid through the back door into the alley behind the bar, collapsing against the brick wall far enough from the dumpsters that she couldn’t smell their funk. She flicked the lighter with a practiced hand, holding it to the end of the cigarette and taking a long, measured breath.

Which she immediately regretted, as the taste of tobacco combined with menthol assaulted her nose and mouth simultaneously and set her coughing. Of course Neon smoked menthols. Ilia glared at the cigarette in her fingers as though it had personally wronged her. It figured, the first time she gave into the temptation to smoke she would end up with a cigarette that tasted like she was inhaling toothpaste. 

“If that’s not a sign from the Gods, I don’t know what is.” Ilia took another drag from the cigarette, grimaced, and stubbed it out against the brick wall. The small amount of nicotine, after nearly two years without it, hit her system quickly. She tilted her head back against the brickwork and watched as, in the gathering twilight, small bats danced between the buildings in pursuit of moths. The air was cool, but the wall behind her was still warm from the sunshine that had baked into it only hours before. 

Blake was obviously happy when she was around Yang, and for her part, the blonde was acting more gentle and real in Blake’s presence than Ilia had ever seen her. She knew the bravado, the defensively audacious mask that the woman put on, and it was pleasant to see beyond it when Yang interacted with Blake. Ilia wanted that for her friend, someone who would be honest with her and embrace her as she was. Though whatever was going on between the two was obviously still very new, she could feel the pull between them like two lodestones that pointed to each other as True North.

Ilia knew the score. Blake would never turn her back on her oldest friend; they carried matching scars on their souls, uniting them almost like sisters, lost and then found. That was part of the reason why they would never work together romantically. They were too alike, and what they each needed was something to temper their past with a new, different future. Her heart gave a pang of surrender. 

Ilia straightened her shoulders and walked resolutely back into the bar.

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ART CORNER:

-[Bartender Ilia concept art](https://probably-momo.tumblr.com/post/635522101281996800/ilia-as-a-bartender-in-my-fic-faults-enough-but)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR’S NOTES:  
> -I took some liberties with Oscar’s age. He’s 22 in this fic, so legal drinking age but still ridiculously young to be the Chancellor of a major university.  
> -In case you were wondering, it is SO FUN to write Ilia. She’s a badass and I love her.  
> -With every character I add, I’m tempted to write a one shot about their experiences in this universe. Neon is no exception— I adore team FNKI.  
> -Miss Malachite owns the Crow Bar. She is very happy to point out that there are three other bars in the immediate vicinity if anyone complains about her staff. She’s definitely up to some shady shit, but Ilia likes her.  
> -There is angst. But don’t worry, I have a whole fic in the works so that Ilia can be HAPPY.  
> -Nora drinks Redbull with blueberry vodka. My liver recoils at the thought. Ruby likes the taste, but she only finishes half of hers where Nora has three.  
> -I LOVE WRITING OOBLECK DIALOGUE. He’s such a goober.  
> -The names for the trivia teams were one of the first things I came up with for this fic. Though Sun/Neptune/Weiss was originally going to be called BLUE STEEL.  
> -Oh Ilia, sweet summer child. I want you to be happy. TT-TT


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trivia night and the gang’s all here! Blake navigates the chaos of Yang’s extended acquaintances, and the evening takes a delightful turn...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RECOMMENDED LISTENING:  
> \- “Crashing (Feat. Bahari)”, ILLENIUM, Bahari   
> \- “Softly”, Clairo

Listen to the Spotify playlist (curated by the author’s wife, @spoopsboops) [HERE](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0NAkxw0y9KBjkbqX3Yum36?si=_V8VgyCTQAiXreIBqCmRtQ).

Follow on Tumblr and Instagram @probably_momo, for art and writing updates.

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It was like being surrounded by a well-intentioned, shit talking circus. As they made their way back across the room after Yang got her drink, Blake caught Pyrrha’s eye over the sea of excited humanity. The redhead cocked an eyebrow at her, then gave her a grin and an approving nod. Blake colored a little at the unspoken acknowledgement, but returned the smile with a bloom of happiness in her chest. She knew that Pyrrha and Yang were close, and if Pyrrha thought that whatever was happening between them was a good thing, then Blake was willing to believe it.

And there _was_ something happening. She had seen a glimpse of it in the studio, Yang’s pupils dilated and her breaths shallow after a few passes of a tape measure around her (exquisite, shapely, tempting) form. Blake was not unruffled by the interaction herself, a fact that she noticed even more as she listened back through the audio to note down Yang’s measurements. Her voice had a tremble at the end and was more coarse in her throat. She had been surprised at the time when Yang had invited her out, but looking back on it she realized she should have expected something to come of that palpable tension.

Blake had spent more time than she was willing to admit getting ready for the evening, discarding a mountain of garments next to her closet. She tried to put together an outfit that didn’t scream DATE but was also understatedly sexy enough to indicate that she was not opposed to the idea either. She had settled on a wide-legged charcoal linen jumpsuit with a low v-neck cut (even lower in the back, all the way down to the waistband) and straps that tapered up to delicate bows at the shoulders. It showed off her neck and décolletage charmingly, and the cut emphasized her shape without drawing too much attention to her butt. She paired it with a light, cropped denim jacket and a pair of strappy white wedge sandals that added a couple of inches to her modest height. Her makeup was just as carefully chosen, though she had to rush a bit at that point as Sun and Neptune hollered at her to get a move on from the foot of the stairs. She had a subtle grey smokey eye with discreet winged liner, only a touch of highlight and blush to accentuate the gold tone of her skin, and a bit of color to draw attention to her mouth. She had brushed out her bob, taken a quick look at herself in the mirror on her bathroom door, and dashed down the stairs to join the boys.

Of course they had shown up ludicrously early— it figured, the only thing Neptune and Sun would ever purposefully be early to would be something that involved drinking and shouting. Ilia’s presence at the bar was the only thing that kept her from walking right back out of there and driving straight home. That, and the knowledge of the barrage of heckling text messages she would receive from Ilia and the guys if she were to dip out before the trivia event even began. 

Talking with Ilia did help her push down the anxiety that clenched her stomach at being penned in by so many loud people. Ruby and Nora showed up soon after, chaperoned by a tall, slender man who was introduced as Ren. Blake hadn’t expected the enthusiastic welcome she received from the two women, each of the women hugging her tightly, chattering in chorus about how good it was to have her here, it was great she was going to see them kick the other teams’ asses, and did she have a drink yet? She needed a drink, the bartenders here were great! Blake laughed, gesturing to the glass that she’d set down hurriedly on the table as she saw the avalanche of glee that was sweeping towards her from the front door. 

When she caught her breath she got a chance to greet their companion properly. Ren was as handsome as he was quiet, wearing a high-collared, cross-closure shirt of fine green cotton that draped his wide shoulders elegantly, the loose sleeves rolled up to show strong forearms. He also wore slim black slacks with matte black leather oxfords, an interesting balance of classic comfort with modern style. She soon learned that he was a chef at a popular local restaurant, which explained the subtle scars from burns and cuts that marred the pale skin of his hands and arms, as well as the calluses on his palms when she shook his hand. From the fond, bemused way he looked at Nora as she bantered with Sun, Blake could tell there was a bulletproof bond between the odd couple. 

Weiss arrived, much to Blake’s surprise and delight, and Blake was amused to learn that her two swaggering housemates were on the same team as the understated blonde. Weiss was blatantly relieved when Blake walked over to greet her, obviously out of her element despite the apparent familiarity of the situation. 

Yang didn’t show up until almost seven, after Pyrrha and Jaune had established themselves at the booth that Ruby had been saving for them. Blake was almost afraid she wasn’t coming, though she knew that that was ridiculous since Yang was an essential part of this event. She wouldn’t skip out just because she was having second thoughts about following through on her invitation (not a date, certainly) to Blake. 

The look of relief and delight on Yang’s face as she caught sight of Blake in the crowd banished the thought that the stunning blonde was regretting her choices. The costume change Yang had undergone didn’t hurt either— stylish motorcycle boots with a pair of dark denim jeans that fit her like a second skin tucked into their tops, and a slightly draped white cotton tank top under a comfortable-looking faded yellow and black flannel. She had her hair down, tempting fingers to tangle into it, and a touch of mascara and liner made her violet eyes seem impossibly luminous. Yang hugged Blake without hesitation as she rose to greet her, which the brunette returned with startled delight.

When the two went up to the bar, the conversation with Ilia was a bit strained, but Blake knew the small woman was very protective when it came to her. They had watched each other’s backs through situations far more tense than a room full of boisterous patrons and an awkward first ( _this is not a_ ) date. Though she played up her disgruntlement at Ilia’s friendly jabs, she was glad her friend was comfortable enough to tease her in front of Yang. It was not the smoothest of interactions but it definitely could have been worse, in spite of Yang accidentally inhaling a good portion of her beer when Blake flirted impudently with her.

Which brought them to this point. They slid into the booth with Jaune and Pyrrha and they inadvertently bumped against one another at the shoulder, hip, thigh. Her skin ignited at the contact, and she glanced at Yang sidelong through her lashes to gauge the other woman’s reaction. Yang didn’t pull away as Blake settled on the bench seat with her right thigh snug up against Yang’s left. She just grinned across the table at Jaune, asking about his classes in medical school and if he’d chosen a place for his residency yet.

“I’m really hoping to get into Vale General Hospital, but I’m also putting in for a place in Mountain Glenn just in case. It would be a hell of a commute, so fingers crossed I get Vale General.” Jaune sipped at his drink, something with cola in it and garnished with a cherry. 

Pyrrha wrapped an arm around her boyfriend’s shoulders and gave him a reassuring squeeze. “I’m sure you will, they’d be crazy not to pick you. You did really well on your last practical exam.”

A loudspeaker crackled through the din of the room, and a man that Blake recognized as a coffee shop regular cheerfully announced the beginning of the trivia championship. He was an energetic emcee, which made sense given the massive thermos that Blake filled with coffee for him at least twice every morning. As he introduced the teams they responded with similar energy, riling the audience into a near-frenzy. Yang boosted herself up onto the bench to rise above the crowd as their team was introduced. Blake quickly reached out to steady her, barely keeping the blonde from landing on top of her in the process of returning to her seat. They locked eyes for a second, Blake’s hand wrapped firmly around Yang’s wrist, and the heat in the other woman’s violet gaze sent a pleasant shiver up Blake’s spine. She let go, breaking the physical contact and the eye contact and covering her sudden mental derailment by clapping and cheering along with the crowd. Their proximity was intoxicating, and even without any alcohol in Blake’s glass she felt heady and warm. 

“With the formalities out of the way, let’s get down to brass tacks! First round is GENERAL KNOWLEDGE! Remember, don’t say your answers out loud unless you’re feeling particularly beneficent towards your competitors. Also, no asking spectators for help— I see you over there, Miss Barista. No helping or you will be disqualified!” Blake blinked at him in surprise, then smiled and held her hands up innocently. The emcee gave her a subtle wink from behind his spectacles, continuing without breaking his stride. “Write your answers as legibly as you can on the provided forms and return them to the lovely Penny Polendina, who will be scoring. She has been selected for this task because she does not take bribes. My name, in the event that you are experiencing very specific amnesia, is Bartholomew Oobleck, and I will accept large bills and/or land deeds, as you deem appropriate.” A laugh rippled through the spectators. The adorable redhead who had slipped in unnoticed waved cheerfully at her introduction. Ruby waved enthusiastically back, clearly familiar with this new woman.

A hush fell as the answer forms were passed out to the teams, going to the individual each group had apparently decided had the neatest handwriting. Ren and Pyrrha were no surprise, but Blake was amused to see that Neptune was the nominated scribe at the far table. Blake tuned out as the trivia questions began. She enjoyed the cozy floating feeling that enveloped her, surrounded as she was by people she was starting to consider friends, affectionately squabbling and jostling each other as they worked out their answers. 

Weiss constantly looked like she was one poorly-timed scattalogical joke away from committing murder. Blake could empathize, given her experience with those two particular assholes: they had a combined mental age that would barely be permitted a driver’s license. Early on, Weiss seized the pencil and answer sheet from Neptune’s hands, apparently prioritizing accurate answers and spelling over penmanship. When “What is the name for the cut of pork that makes up the shoulder and upper leg?” Was presented as a question, the boys erupted into fits of laughter. To be fair, so did Nora and Ruby.

Though the middle team was equally rambunctious, Ren had a far less homicidal attitude toward their antics. He would occasionally poke Ruby or Nora with the eraser of his pencil (or the other end if they really weren’t paying attention), bringing them back to the task at hand. Ruby grinned and smacked him on the shoulder before leaning in to whisper in his ear in response to “How much does the average cloud weigh?” One of the first things Blake had learned about Ruby, other than her love of anything sweet and breakfasty, was her penchant for obscure mathematical facts. She could see how the energetic woman would have an edge in a competition like this. 

Even as her attention wandered around the room, Blake was ever cognizant of the warmth on her right. Yang’s body heat was a radiant sun, and Blake wavered between being drawn to it like a moth to a flame, and pulling away in case she was burned. She grinned as Yang cracked a joke about blue footed boobies and Pyrrha kicked the blonde under the table to keep her from giving away the answer.

After several rounds all of the teams still seemed evenly matched. Oobleck decreed that there would be a fifteen minute break, so that he could get some “vocal lubrication” and so the contestants could use “the facilities”. Sliding up from the bench seat to let Yang out, Blake stretched and rolled her shoulders. The booth was made of attractive warm wood, well shined by decades of use. Unfortunately, those same decades of use had compacted the cushions to the point that they were cushions in name only. Blake’s tailbone hurt and her feet had started to fall asleep. She grabbed her glass and murmured that she was going to get a refill, trying to discreetly rub some feeling into the backs of her thighs as she made her way to the bar. 

The bartender that Blake didn’t recognize was at the counter, pulling pitchers of beer so that Ilia could run them out to the tables. Blake waited, giving her time to catch up on the rush of orders that had come during the pause in the event. The bartender loaded Ilia down with a tray holding three pitchers, giving her an encouraging pat on the shoulder as the smaller woman left with her burden. Ilia caught Blake’s eye and made a face, but carried the tray easily, moving nimbly through the crowd without spilling a drop. The new bartender swiped her wrist across her forehead, mussing her orange and blue bangs as she wiped the sweat that was threatening to trickle into her eyes. She caught sight of Blake standing patiently to the side with an empty glass in her hand, and immediately propped her hands on her hips to give Blake a saucy grin. 

“Well _hello_ there. You thirsty?”

Blake couldn’t help the half-smile that escaped— the woman was just so blatant, almost charming in her directness. Very not her thing, but she’d give her an A for effort.

“Just soda with bitters please, thank you.” She slid the empty glass across the counter. 

The bartender caught it, dumping the contents and dropping it into a bus tub in one motion before getting a fresh glass and filling it with ice. As she dispensed sparkling water, she leaned casually on the counter and gave Blake a slow once over. “I haven’t seen you around here before— my name's Neon. Who might you be, gorgeous?”

“She is not available and she’s entirely out of your league. Table twelve wants five margaritas with sugar rims.” Ilia had her empty tray in one hand and looked simultaneously amused and irritated. Neon stuck her tongue out at her coworker. She shook a few dashes of bitters into the drink before winking at Blake and setting it in front of her, then sidled over to the far end of the bar to grab a pitcher of margarita mix and bottle of tequila.

Blake raised an eyebrow at her friend, surprised at her forcefulness.“Thanks, but you didn’t have to do that. She’s harmless.”

“Sure she’s harmless, but once she thinks you're interested she’ll follow you like a cat after a mouse. I don’t think that your auto shop babe would appreciate that very much.” Ilia grabbed another two pitchers of beer and walked away, not meeting Blake’s eyes.

Blake picked up the glass slowly, watching as her friend dodged elbows and knees to make her way across the bar. They’d broken up three years ago, their friendship coming through only slightly battered and bruised. Ilia had been there for Blake through so much bullshit… Somehow it had never occurred to Blake that the delightful, sarcastic woman she had so depended upon might still carry an unrequited torch for her. And here she was, on the first thing that might be considered a date in three years, at Ilia’s bar. 

She felt like such an asshole.

“Hey, are you ok? You look a little pale.” Pyrrha stood a few feet away, concern written across her posture.

Blake tried to smile at the other woman, but it probably came across as more of a pained grimace. “Just… Realizing I’ve hurt someone I care about without meaning to. Pretty par for the course for me, I guess. You should probably warn Yang—“ She stopped, ‘ _to get out while she still can’_ trapped behind her clenched teeth. The attempt at self-deprecatory humor fell flat, sounding more like self-pity than anything. She looked down at her glass, sighing and swirling the beverage with her cocktail straw. 

Pyrrha took a measured step closer, reaching out to rest a cool hand on Blake’s bicep. When Blake looked up to meet her eyes, there was a sweet, understanding smile on her face. “Blake, no one here expects you to be anything more than you are. People… Are complicated. Every single one of us. And we all have stories that we carry, waiting for a time when we’re ready to share them with someone who matters. I think you’ll find that Yang understands that better than most.”

Blake took a shaky breath and reached up to place her left hand over Pyrrha’s right, where it rested on her upper arm. “I’m starting to understand that, I think. About people, and a bit about Yang, though I haven’t known her very long. I just don’t want to be the thing that brings someone crashing down.” _Again_. 

“I think ultimately we have to trust the people we care about to know what they’re getting into, and to know their own boundaries. You won’t get anything other than anxiety and ulcers by trying to predict how people will respond to who you really are.” Pyrrha gave her arm a squeeze and let go. They watched as Yang emerged from the women’s restroom and headed back to their table, pausing to talk with Ruby, Nora, and Ren on her way. “I have to say, though, I’ve never seen her like this around anyone new before.”

“Like what?”

“Honest. She’s not putting on a face around you. It’s nice to see.” The redhead gave her another smile, then headed towards the restroom herself.

Blake took a sip from her drink, steadying her nerves, then headed back across the room. When she got back to their booth Yang was gently teasing Jaune about dozing off in the corner, while the beleaguered man blushed and tried to hush her.

“Yang, you’re going to get me kicked out! I didn’t doze off anyway, I was just resting my eyes.”

“Uh huh, that’s what my dad always calls it when he conks out in his armchair in front of the TV. You’re beat, dude. How much sleep have you gotten in the last 48 hours?”

“None of your business.” Yang was about to continue haranguing, but Jaune cut her off. “It’s midterms, I’ve got more important things to do than sleep! Besides, the Residents say we can sleep when we graduate. I need all the studying I can get.”

Blake dropped into the seat next to Yang, thoroughly considering the man across the table. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his short blonde hair was decidedly un-brushed. “You look worse than usual.”

“And you are surprisingly uncharitable for someone who tends to the needs of coffee addicts. I thought there was an expectation of hospitality that went with your line of work.” 

“Well I’m not working now and you’re not a customer. No one can fire me for telling you that you look like shit.”

“Have we started yet?” Pyrrha bounced into the seat next to Jaune, her cheerful demeanor earning her a pained look from her boyfriend.

“No, our friends are just telling me how awful I look.”

“—And they’re not wrong. Honey, I told you you should have stayed home and gone to sleep. You were dozing off at the table earlier.”

Yang crowed, “HA! I told you so! Resting your eyes my ass!” before Pyrrha hushed her. 

The second round went much like the first, though Pyrrha had to nudge Jaune with her elbow a few times as his eyes drifted closed. The questions were even more niche, with “What Country are You in if…?”, “Physics Foibles”, and “Legendary Athletes” as categories. Blake was rather proud of herself for the number of questions she knew in the first category, but was slightly less certain in the second. She had taken Physics during her brief stint in high school, but she remembered the outrageous mumus her science teacher wore far better than the actual methodologies of the class. She was entirely out of her depth in the sports round, but Pyrrha had apparently encyclopedic knowledge of related terminology. Sun and Nora rivaled her abilities when it came to recalling past winners of competitions, but Pyrrha was the only one who knew the answer to “Which country won the most gold medals at the first official Vytal Festival?”, much to Blake’s delight.

By the time Oobleck called a second break, The Chaos Muppets (she would need to ask Ruby about that after the competition) and Percussive Maintenance were neck and neck, with 2Legit2Quit only a few points behind. It was a little after nine, but when Jaune stood to go to the bathroom he wavered in place to such a degree that both Blake and Pyrrha reached out to catch him. He grumpily waved them off and headed across the room, but Pyrrha watched him go with her brows furrowed. She excused herself and made her way to the front door, pulling out her scroll as she stepped outside.

For a moment, Blake and Yang were alone at their table. The excited din around the room cocooned them, a bubble of solitude in the crowded bar. Yang twisted to look over her shoulder at Ruby, as there was a clatter and a startled yelp and her sister had started laughing. Yang’s arm slid across the back of the bench seat when she turned, and it stayed there as she settled back, shaking her head and chuckling. 

“What happened?” 

“The guy with blue hair spilled something on the blonde chick on their team—she stood up really fast and knocked her chair over. It almost hit Ruby, and then Rubes started laughing. No hard feelings I guess, but the blonde chick left pretty fast.” Yang sipped her pint casually.

Blake glanced over her shoulder to see a red-faced Weiss approach the bar. Her skirt and the lower part of her blouse were soaked through, likely with Neptune’s bougie cocktail of the hour. The woman didn’t seem hurt or even very upset, just a little embarrassed and disgruntled as she got a dry bar towel from Neon. Neptune was frantically trying to catch the liquid on the table with every cocktail napkin he could get his hands on.

Reassured, Blake brought her attention back to their table. And to the fact that she was now comfortably tucked up against Yang’s flank, her shoulder just the right height to notch under Yang’s arm. She indulged herself by nestling in almost imperceptibly. It was exciting and comforting all at once.

“So, are you enjoying yourself?”

It took her a moment to discern the context of the question, as she was definitely enjoying their physical proximity. “Oh, uh, yeah! It’s really interesting— and it’s really hard not to say anything when I know the answer. I can see why you enjoy this.”

Yang shrugged, “Honestly, I wouldn’t even be in this if Ruby hadn’t dragged me along the first time. I’m glad she did though, it’s been nice to get out and do something without any complications.” 

Blake raised an eyebrow, tilting her head to look the blonde in the eyes. “Complications? And inviting me along last minute, that wasn’t a complication?” She softened the question with a teasing smile. 

Yang met her gaze and held it, her expression relaxed and happy but sincere. “No, not a complication. More like… a happy accident?” She grinned apologetically. “That didn’t come out the way I meant it.”

“No, I know what you mean.” Blake nibbled on her cocktail straw. “Definitely a happy accident.”

Jaune and Pyrrha arrived back at the table at the same time. Pyrrha brandished her scroll like a weapon at her sleep-deprived significant other, fixing him with a stern glare. “I called a ride-share for you. They will be here in five minutes.”

“Pyrrha I’m—“

“No you’re not fine, you’re asleep on your feet. I checked with Oobleck, and he says that if the other teams agree to it we can swap Blake in for you for the last round.” She turned to Blake, a little apologetic. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask you first Blake, but you will help us out, right?” 

Blake looked between Jaune and Pyrrha, and recognized that this was the last thing keeping Jaune from the sweet embrace of sleep. “Sure, I‘ll step in if everyone’s ok with it.”

Jaune’s shoulders slumped in defeat. Pyrrha escorted him out the front door and presumably into the back seat of a waiting car with strict instructions to take him straight home and make sure he made it through the front door.

“Friends, laypersons, and assorted gentlefolk, lend me your ears!” Oobleck’s amplified voice rang out over the general hubbub. A hush fell. “There will be a slight change to our roster for this climactic final round of the competition. With the unanimous agreement from all competitors, team Percussive Maintenance will swap in an untried, dark horse contestant for seasoned trivia veteran Jaune. Please give a warm, Crow Bar welcome to the bewitching barista herself— Blake!”

Suddenly Blake found herself the subject of scrutiny for almost every set of eyes in the building. Raucous cheers, stomping feet, and applause echoed around her. Even those who weren’t interested in the trivia competition in the slightest turned to see what all the commotion was about, following the mood of the crowd and cheering and clapping along. Ruby and Nora started a chant of “Blake! Blake! Blake!”, which was quickly picked up by other tables. At the bar, Ilia grinned and chanted along, knowing full well how much her quiet friend hated attracting attention. 

Blake shrank into her seat, glad that Yang’s arm was still draped behind her on the back of the bench, granting her a modicum of psychological if not physical shelter from the onslaught. She gave a weak smile and a wave to the room in general, trying to ignore the cold sweat that broke out between her shoulder blades. 

The arm around her shoulders tightened. “Don’t worry, we’ve got your back.” Yang murmured in her ear. “Sorry you kind of got pushed into this. You really don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

“It’s not a problem, it’s just a little loud.” She would have been a bit more convincing if her voice hadn’t cracked on the second half of the sentence.

Yang squeezed her again, that same discreet, reassuring hug. Then Pyrrha returned and Penny began passing out the answer sheets for the final round. The sheltering arm disappeared so that Yang could lean forward on her elbows in anticipation of what was coming. 

Blake mirrored her, excitement rising. Now that the attention of the room was more evenly spread between the teams, the emcee, and the contents of their beverages, she wasn’t quite as intimidated by the current situation. 

“Our third and final round will begin with… ‘Cryptic Classifications’!” A moan echoed through the competitors, Yang included. The questions came quickly now, with just a little time in between to allow the teams to discuss. Blake brightened when Oobleck asked “What is the name of the hard tip on a shoelace?”, whispering to Pyrrha almost before the question was finished. 

“What do you call a duel between three people?” seemed to stump most of them, though Weiss looked triumphant as she quickly scribbled on their answer sheet. Sun peered over her shoulder, incredulous.

“A triad, a truce…” Yang murmured, chewing on her lower lip in frustration. Pyrrha wrote down ‘trial’, right as Oobleck called time on the category.

The “Living Literature” category had all of the tables out of their seats and talking furiously but quietly at each other. Everyone had opinions about which author, under which pseudonym, penned the popular novel _The Seasons Song_.

“I know it’s F. Frost, I wrote a book report on it!” Yang hissed, but Pyrrha shook her head. 

“F. Frost wrote _Winter’s Edge_ , and you wrote a book report on that in high school. I remember because you scandalized the teacher with your thesis that it was actually a love story between the main character and her unnamed antagonist.”

Yang pouted theatrically. “...Well ok. But Algid definitely wanted to bang the woman in black— no one platonically describes the way someone sips wine with that amount of detail.”

The final category was “The Sands of Time”, pulling historical knowledge from many disparate sources. Yang had an answer immediately for “In what year did the first Diesel engine enter mass production?” Nora glared menacingly across the table as she whispered to Ren. 

“Here’s a tough one for you folks— I hope you paid attention in civics class! ‘What was the name of the Civil Rights Activist, often called the “Little Father” who was responsible for co-authoring the Constitution for the country that is now known as Menagerie?”

Blake blinked, glancing at the other teams. Weiss, Sun, and Neptune were arguing quietly but viciously. Ren, Nora, and Ruby had their heads together, but looked perplexed. Blake looked over at Pyrrha and Yang— neither of them seemed to have an idea, though Pyrrha was quietly listing every historical figure she could remember that was even remotely related to Menagerie while Yang shot down each one.

Well, might as well bite the bullet.

“It’s Felix Meong.” 

Pyrrha looked surprised, but quickly scribbled down the answer right as Oobleck called an end to the round. Yang gleefully clapped Blake on the shoulder— the finals were over and all that was left was the scoring. 

When all of the answer sheets made it up to the front, Penny bent over them studiously, her red pen flying. Then, with a satisfied expression on her face, she handed off the results to Oobleck.

“My dear gathered friends and acquaintances, we have a winner! Starting from the bottom, which is to say the worst of the best, we have…. 2Legit2Quit! As I am told they say in the sports industry… Good game!” Applause rippled through the bar. Neptune and Sun stood, waving gleefully, while Weiss groaned and rolled her eyes from their table.

“Next up, coming in a very admirable second place with only a few points separating them from the leaders…. The Chaos Muppets! And Ren! Jolly good show!” Nora and Ruby tackled Ren and would have knocked him out of his chair if he hadn’t been expecting it and braced himself for impact.

“Which leaves us with the winners, by process of elimination and some very good memories for minutiae... Percussive Maintenance! Congratulations to you, you are this year's Battle of the Brains CHAMPIONS!” 

The room shook as clapping, shouting, and stomping reverberated off the walls and ceiling. Blake found herself being pulled to her feet by Yang, as she and Pyrrha stood to wave and grin sheepishly at the jubilant crowd. It was overwhelming, and Blake felt a bit like a fraud standing there as everyone cheered for their team. After all, she had only slid into the competition at the last minute to help out. But when she moved out of the way to let Yang out of the booth, the blonde snagged her hand as she slid past and towed Blake toward the front of the room where Oobleck was beckoning. The feeling of that hand clasping hers so tightly overwhelmed any misgivings, and she allowed herself to float pleasantly on the atmosphere of chaotic merriment that surrounded her. 

The first prize, it turned out, was a 100 Lien gift card to the student bookstore for each of them. (“Wow, that could almost buy half a textbook” Yang’s murmur was so low, Blake was sure she was the only one meant to hear it). All of the finalists also received Battle of the Brains t-shirts and engraved pint glasses with the Crow Bar logo on them. 

“I’m sorry Miss Barista, the only spare I have is an extra large.” 

Blake obligingly held the proffered shirt up to her shoulders— sure enough, the bottom hem hit her thigh just above the knee. She beamed at the emcee. “This is just fine. Thank you.”

By the time they made it back to their table they had been offered drinks, slapped on the shoulders, and congratulated at least a dozen times. Blake felt slightly breathless, but with Yang pressed up next to her and the solid wall on her right it was more exhilarating than anything. 

_I’ve only really known her for a few days, and yet… And yet, she feels so safe._

Ilia appeared with a tray of drinks— she placed another soda and bitters in front of Blake, this time garnished with a dark red, house made cocktail cherry and a tiny purple umbrella in addition to the wedge of lime, and a glass of sparkling peach-colored wine in front of Pyrrha. For Yang, a low tumbler with a large sphere of ice and a healthy pour of a tawny-gold liquor.

“Blake, the usual but dressed up. For you, Pyrrha, a glass of the only good bubbly we carry— I think my boss keeps it for herself, but I snagged some for you. And for you… the ten-year bourbon from Shattered Moon in Mantle, on the house. Well done out there tonight.” Ilia’s smile was friendly, but Blake caught an edge of calculation in her eyes.

Yang picked up the glass and swirled its contents, inhaling the aroma with pleasure. “Thanks, that’s so awesome of you!” Pyrrha and Blake chimed in with enthusiastic gratitude, and Ilia nodded and headed back to the bar. Once she was out of earshot, Yang sipped the whiskey, and then eyed it regretfully. “Damn that’s some really nice whiskey. I’d be all over it, but I’ve gotta drive later…” She stood and walked over to the table where Ren sat as an island of calm amidst the high spirits of Ruby and Nora. Yang offered the quiet man the tumbler, murmuring something and nodding towards the bar. He smiled warmly at her and accepted the drink with pleasure.

Then Ruby was grabbing Blake’s arm and towing her out of the booth to come and sit at their table, Pyrrha following along amiably. Sun and Neptune pushed their table over to join them. Ilia pointed at them across the bar, “If you don’t move that back when you’re done I will personally come to your house and kick both of your asses. You know I’m good for it.”

Weiss followed along, sitting next to Ren and striking up a quiet conversation. From the little of it she could hear over the exuberance of their other table mates, Blake made out a discussion of the cost of importing ingredients from Anima and Solitas. After helping Oobleck pack up, Penny joined them. It turned out that she was Ruby’s roommate, and was in the Robotics department at Beacon. She was very sweet, matching Ruby in joie de vivre if not volume. 

With the end of the trivia finals, the bar started to empty and the ambient noise level diminished. Pyrrha finished her wine and excused herself to catch a cab home— she had an early welding class in the morning. Weiss bowed out with little fanfare, waving to Blake as she left the table. 

“How did you guys beat us in that last round? I could’ve sworn we were ahead of you!” Ruby leaned across the table, imperiling several beverages as she stabbed an accusatory finger at her sister.

“It was all Blake— she’s some sort of trivia wizard. I don’t even know how you knew that last question. Oobleck doesn’t usually throw in recent history like that.” Yang leaned back, smiling languidly at Blake. 

The brunette fidgeted with her cocktail napkin, rolling it between her fingers. “Well, I am from Menagerie. And it would be kind of embarrassing if I didn’t know who he was… He was my grandfather.”

Cries of disbelief rang out from her companions. Yang grinned in delight. “No shit? That’s so cool! I bet you grew up with so much history happening around you.”

“Oh, you have no idea…” Blake’s expression was rueful. She was relieved when the conversation quickly took another detour as Nora and Neptune began to hotly debate whether that sort of personal knowledge could be considered cheating. Blake could see that Neptune was mostly arguing for the sake of arguing, another one of his charming characteristics, but she didn’t say anything. It was good to have a reprieve from the intense attention that had been fixed on her for a moment. It had made her feel exposed.

A hand clasped hers momentarily under the table, giving it a reassuring squeeze before disappearing. She looked up, right into Yang’s mesmerizing violet gaze. _It’s okay,_ those eyes said. _You don’t have to give anything more._ Blake smiled back, wrapped in earnest compassion. 

Ruby left with Penny an hour or so later. Soon after, Nora, Neptune, and Sun announced they were moving the party elsewhere— Neptune had been talking about a club in downtown Vale, and the consensus was that it sounded AWESOME and they should go LIKE RIGHT NOW. At some point Nora had pulled Ren’s long black hair out of its ponytail, and the top frog on his shirt was unbuttoned. Somehow he made it look intentional. He went along good-naturedly when Nora grabbed him by the elbow and propelled him towards the door.

“I guess someone has to be the adult in this equation.” He murmured to Blake and Yang as he was half-dragged out of the bar.

The two women sat together for a while longer, conversing easily about their time at the university and finding the different ways that their social spheres overlapped. Blake was laughing more than she probably had in years. She felt like there was a glow in the center of her chest, warm and tender and new, and she wanted to follow that glow wherever it might lead her.

Finally Yang stood, stretching luxuriantly. Blake indulged herself in a quick glance at the ripple of Yang’s abs where her tank top rode up above the waistband of her jeans, and the bunch and pull of her shoulders. Yang caught her eye, smiling with the easy confidence of someone who knows they are being admired.

“You want to walk me to my bike?”

Blake raised an eyebrow, matching the smile with one of her own. “Of course, someone has to protect your virtue. It’s a tough world out there.” She grabbed her bag and her cropped denim jacket, pausing while Yang pulled on the leather bomber she had arrived in and secured a few lien under her empty pint glass. They left together, not quite touching but caught in each other’s gravity.

It was just past midnight, and the air outside had a damp bite to it. Blake tugged the denim tighter around her slight frame, wavering closer to Yang in search of that radiating heat that seemed to pour off of the golden-haired woman. 

Yang’s gleaming yellow motorcycle was parked near the far wall of the bar, just within the radius of the glow of a streetlight. Within twenty feet of the bike their pace slowed until they stopped, side by side, cocooned in the shadows beyond the light’s reach. Yang turned towards Blake, and when Blake looked up there was a question and a hope in the other woman’s eyes.

Blake took a breath, that fragile thing in her chest fluttering against her ribs in a valiant effort to burst from her chest in sheer, unadulterated longing. She reached out blind, capturing Yang’s hand in hers and tangling their clumsy fingers. The air between them felt heavy with reverie and promise, and breathing it coated her lungs in a sluggish drug of tender desire. She had Yang’s gaze locked to her own, the other woman seeming lost in the heady moment. She brought her free hand up to gently caress the delicate, pale skin at Yang’s jawline. Thick lashes fluttered shut and Yang’s head tilted, not to pull away but to allow further access to the vulnerable area. Blake’s self-restraint snapped like a taut line.

“If you don’t want this, tell me to stop and I will.” Her voice was husky and caught in her throat, the tone eliciting a delicious shiver from her companion. Yang opened her eyes slowly, and the sheer heat in her gaze brought Blake surging forward, capturing Yang’s mouth in a demanding kiss.

Blake had been overwhelmed before by inadvertent, mundane contact, searing at the brushing of their skin. Now she crowded in, greedy for the burn of it in her palms, her lips, her breasts, her thighs. Anywhere their two forms met was aflame with sensation, and Blake basked in the revelation of this newly established physical connection. She moved Yang until the taller woman’s back met the brick exterior of the bar, tangling fingers in the outrageous mane of silken gold and gently pulling. 

Yang slid down the wall, meeting Blake’s passionate salvo with equal fervor, arching against her to intensify the press of their bodies. Her hands found Blake’s hips before moving to her waist, her shoulders, the bare skin at the small of her back...She mapped Blake’s form, sculpting her with the inspiration of her passion.

After an eternity of moments that vanished in a breath, Blake pulled back, her teeth gently pulling Yang’s lower lip before letting go. She took in the spectacle of the gorgeous woman coming apart in her arms, memorizing the heave of her breaths, the kiss-reddened hue of her lips, the dark consuming contrast of her eyes against her lashes. Blake tenderly ran a fingertip over Yang’s mouth, feeling the featherlight caress of her quickened breaths against her skin.

_This was crazy, this was impulsive, this was too fast…_

_This was perfect._

“Since I’ve so far failed at protecting your virtue, maybe I can take you home with me and finish the job?” She had never propositioned anyone before, especially not like this. Not enveloped in the heart-racing, joyous rush of lust and belonging, no biting threads of doubt or guilt to entangle the headfirst tumble into this addictive and enticing sensation.

“Please.” Yang’s gaze was glazed with a deep hunger, her voice strained at the edges. Blake reveled in the inexplicable euphoric power she seemed to have, holding this confident, glorious creature in this untethered state, trembling on the edge of discovery.

Blake ensnared Yang’s hand once more, bringing the scarred knuckles to her lips in a chaste kiss. Then, with trembling, breathless excitement, she towed Yang towards the bike and the promise of their unstoppable, onrushing momentum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR’S NOTES:  
> -Trivia Answers: 1.) BUTT lol, 2.) 1.1 million pounds, 3.) an aglet, 4.) a truel, which is simultaneously obvious and irritating  
> -One of my favorite things about writing Blake’s POV is how much detail I can put into outfit descriptions. It matters to her, and it let’s me indulge my verbose tendencies that were the bane of all of my college professors.  
> -Penny is Ruby’s roommate.  
> -Oh Neon, you are such a delight.  
> -Blake is really bad at noticing painfully obvious things sometimes. Poor baby Ilia, my sweet summer child.  
> -No filter Blake strikes again.  
> -Meong is what cats say in Indonesia instead of meow, and it’s also an Indonesian word for cat. Felix Meong was Kali’s father. AT LEAST I THINK I’M FUNNY.  
> -They definitely didn’t move the table back. Ilia is gonna be so pissed.  
> -I REALLY REALLY don’t advocate for riding a motorcycle in wedge heels or in sandals, if you like your toes. There are extenuating circumstances here, but please don’t do this.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things heat up between Yang and Blake...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ADVANCED WARNING: This whole chapter is NSFW! If that’s not your jam, skip down to the Author’s Notes at the end of the chapter to catch anything plot related.
> 
> If that is your jam.... Enjoy. :)
> 
> RECOMMENDED LISTENING FOR CHAPTER 7:  
> \- “Your Hand in Mine”, Explosions in the Sky

Listen to the Spotify playlist (curated by the author’s wife, @spoopsboops) [HERE](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0NAkxw0y9KBjkbqX3Yum36?si=Ai7gHVZeQy6fn-kR28ZErg).

Follow on Tumblr and Instagram @probably_momo, for art and writing updates.

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The house on the corner was silent and empty when they pulled up to the curb. Yang’s brain was fizzing with excitement and over-stimulation. The whole ride back from the bar she had stubbornly kept her concentration on the road in front of her— a difficult task, given the lithe body pressed close, and the slender hands tucked up under the hem of her leather bomber jacket. 

She was barely off the bike, her helmet in hand, when Blake was back in her space, a sweet, searing kiss and her tongue swiping between Yang’s lips to tangle sensuously and then retreat, stealing Yang’s breath away with it. She caught the front of Yang’s jacket, tugging her insistently towards the house. 

The blonde laughed between gasps, leaning back slightly out of Blake’s grip. “Just a sec, I need to lock this up.” 

Blake released her reluctantly, fishing her house keys from her bag as she watched Yang lock up the helmets and secure the bike for the night. As soon as Yang was no longer occupied, her hand was caught and she found herself being towed up the dark walkway to the waiting house. She was grateful that Blake was so confident in her steps; the combination of blinding desire and the time it took for her eyes to adjust to the low light meant she was reliant on the other woman to guide her through the shadows to the door.

“There are three steps, don’t trip.” In the darkness Blake’s low murmur seemed especially intimate, sending a delighted shiver up Yang’s spine. As she paused to unlock the front door, Yang crowded up behind her, sliding a hand over the smaller woman’s belly and the other up to skim the underside of her breasts, not a caress but a slow tease. Blake hissed in surprise, arching back against the body holding her, her hands fumbling slightly at the lock before she pushed the door open. “So impatient.” The admonishment was warm, and Yang pressed closer, her lips finding the back of Blake’s neck and the shell of her ear.

She followed the tantalizing form into the darkened interior. Once inside Yang pulled back, taking advantage of the slight unbalance this caused to spin the brunette and pin her against the closed door, a mirror image of their dizzying moments in the parking lot only twenty minutes before. Blake nearly purred, pressing herself against Yang as much as the position allowed and helping the blonde pull the denim from her shoulders. Granted access to so much smooth skin at once, Yang had to take a moment to feather kisses across Blake’s shoulder blades, her collar bone, dipping slightly down into the concavity between her breasts as permitted by the low v of the jumpsuit. As she explored the woman before her, Yang paid careful attention to the particular areas that made Blake gasp and squirm, working over her sensitive throat and the tender skin over her sternum with nibbles and soft kisses to follow. She made her way back up to Blake’s mouth, catching her lips and her tongue in a desperate clash of heated breath and panting sighs. 

Her lucid mind took hold for half a second, pulling her back from exploring the fascinating texture of Blake’s lips to gaze into the wanton longing of her golden eyes, the only brightness she could make out in the shadow of the front hall. It was always a bit awkward, but needed to be said given the headlong dive they seemed to be making in the direction of the bedroom and feeding of their burning appetites. “I got tested a month and a half ago. Everything came back negative.”

Her quiet, half rueful, half embarrassed utterance was met by the bloom of a slow, enchanted smile on that beautiful face, hovering in the shadow half a breath away. “I haven’t been with anyone in nearly three years. I have an exam every year— I’m good too.” 

Yang grinned back, her hands finding their way down to encircle the other woman’s delicious, slender waist. “Three years, huh? That’s a damn shame. Glad we can do something about that.” She dove in, teeth nipping at the golden column of Blake’s neck and eliciting a pleased growl from the other woman. Her bomber was wrestled from her back and followed the denim jacket into an uncaring pile on the floor. Blake was pushing forward now, matching Yang’s heat and insistence with her own, and they didn’t break apart even as they began to stumble their way down the hallway and towards the curving stair. Yang’s flannel disappeared into the abyss and Blake’s delicate, competent hands worked their way up under her tank top to ghost along her rib cage and draw light scratches from shoulder to hips. 

When the heels of Yang’s boots hit the first stair, they came apart, locked gazes continuing the heady intimacy of the moment. Blake snagged Yang’s hand again, and, with a quick squeeze of fingers, started up the stairs. Yang hurried to keep in step with her lest she lost that precious contact that united them against the world.

Up one flight and then another, to the small attic landing at the top of the old house, and then through into the moonlit, sweet smelling room that enveloped Yang with the feeling of Blake. 

“You can take your boots off if you want. Let me get us some light.” Blake squeezed Yang’s hand one more time before releasing it. She pulled away to move across the room and busy herself with something on a shelf. As Yang obligingly unbuckled and toed out of her heavy leather boots, several candles and a string of delicate fairy lights illuminated the room, revealing the peaked roof and a wide, low bed under sloping skylights. Mismatched rugs were scattered artfully across the floor, a comfortable looking wingback armchair stood in one corner next to an antique reading lamp, and a sturdy desk held a well-loved vintage sewing machine and piles of fabric scraps. 

Blake pressed a button on a small Bluetooth speaker and low, trancelike post-rock music began to fill the space. She turned back to face Yang, her glossy hair and warm skin radiant in the gentle glow. Kicking off her sandals as she walked, she pressed herself up into Yang’s chest, arms encircling Yang’s waist and her face against her throat. Yang returned the embrace warmly, slightly off-balance from the sudden switch to this tender, unhurried pace, but reveling in the freedom of exploration. Blake pressed a sweet kiss to the juncture of Yang’s jaw, just under her ear. Fingers caught at the hem of Yang’s tank top, pulling it up and over the blonde’s head before tossing it to the low couch along one wall. Golden eyes held violet for a moment, as Blake gently cupped Yang’s round breasts and caressed them through the thin satin of her bra. 

Yang’s breath stuttered in her throat as Blake reached around behind her, easily unclasping the garment. She stopped breathing altogether when the brunette followed the sensuous slide of the silky material with the warm insistent press of her mouth, down from Yang’s shoulder to the sensitive mound of her breast, finally taking her pert nipple between her soft lips and rolling it gently between her teeth. It took Yang a moment to realize that the whimper that echoed through the quiet room came from her own mouth, her knees trembling slightly from the attention Blake gave first to one hard, rosy bud, and then to the other. 

She wasn’t used to this— the slow, studious exploration and attention being given to her pleasure. She wasn’t sure where to put her hands, how she should move, how she could return the affection that was being lavished upon her. Yang was used to a dive into carnal sensation, her past partners demanding her attention to the rapid, though repetitive, satisfaction of their mutual desires. As Blake dropped to her knees before her in one fluid movement, her talented mouth playing along the waistband of Yang’s jeans as she worked the fly open and the zipper down, Yang suddenly stepped back, catching Blake’s hands in hers. 

“But what do _you_ want? What can I do for you?”

Blake held onto her, her face sincere and her voice serene. “Yang, this _is_ for me.” Blake pressed a kiss to the jut of Yang’s hipbone, then trailed her tongue down the line that ran from there to vanish beneath the grey cotton of Yang’s underwear. “Can I make you feel good tonight?”

“Yes. Yes— but…” Yang’s fingers curled tightly into Blake’s, seeking stability on uncertain ground. “...But I want to do the same for you.”

“Of course. Later.” Blake was standing again, drawing Yang over to the bed and pressing her down into the soft quilt before she moved to pull the tight denim down off of Yang’s hips, her thighs, and away. She then stood back, and Yang fought the urge to squirm at the intensity of the other woman’s gaze as she took in every detail of the bare body laid out in front of her. The way she looked at her, Yang felt that she was a sculpture that had sprung from Blake’s hands and she was now taking in the magic of her creation. It made her feel more naked than her bared skin ever could, but it also stoked the furnace that had been growing in the pit of her gut. Somehow the fact that Blake was still mostly clothed, while she was so taken apart, made the dynamic all the more provocative. Curls of want spiraled out from the embers that glowed beneath her bellybutton. 

Yang brought one of her hands to her own breast, teasing her nipple as she ran the other down over the sculpted angles of her pelvis to ghost over the damp fabric at the juncture of her legs. She watched as Blake’s eyes widened, her lips parting in a silent pant, a gasp of need. Spurred on by this reaction, she pressed against that wet warmth with two fingers as she tweaked at the tender flesh of her nipple; she caught her lower lip between her teeth, barely containing the soft groan that the dueling sensations pulled from her throat.

Blake was on top of her then, one knee pressing up against the hand that rubbed her clit through her panties, her mouth snaring Yang’s with hungry passion. Yang found her hands being pulled away from her own body, her wrists pressed insistently into the mattress above her head. A steady pressure— _leave these here._ She whimpered softly at the surge of lightheaded ecstasy this gentle show of dominance ignited within her. 

Blake hummed in response, watching her expression with hooded eyes, a slight, satisfied smile curling the corners of her enticing mouth. Her right hand skated down Yang’s skin, taking the place that Yang’s fingers had occupied only seconds before, an insistent pulsing pressure over the fabric wet with her need. Contrary to this touch, too much and not enough all at once, Blake’s other fingers wandered over the skin of Yang’s right shoulder. Without looking Yang knew that she was tracing the lines enshrined there, the vivid tattoo sleeve of a golden dragon winding through a field of sunflowers that wrapped fully around her upper arm. 

“This is beautiful. You’re beautiful.” Blake’s voice was so tender it carved into Yang’s heart in a wonderful, horrible stab. Yang had to turn her face away, pressing her cheek into the quilt and shutting her eyes tight against the wave of emotion that surged in her chest. 

The delicate exploration continued, as did the pulsing pressure between Yang’s legs. Blake trailed her fingertips over Yang’s breast, tracing down along the edge of the heavy scarring that marred her right flank and over her hip to her upper thigh. Yang had gotten past the shyness that had initially kept her from baring her skin in public, but she still felt uncomfortable when a new partner came face-to-face with her ravaged skin. It was all Yang could do not to flinch away from the honest, gentle inspection of her imperfect form.

“The asphalt did a number on me in a crash. I don’t have a lot of nerve endings left under the scarring—“ Again, that low hum of acknowledgement, reassurance, cut off her tight, anxious rambling. Yang risked a glance to the other woman’s face but found no disgust or pity there, only understanding and burning desire. The steady tracing continued.

The other hand, momentarily forgotten, caught Yang’s attention once more as Blake pushed aside the interfering strip of fabric and her long, warm fingers plunged into the soaked cleft of her cunt. A delicate fingertip traced a circle around her clit, the pressure everywhere and nowhere and winding Yang into a ball of trembling need. 

“I want to taste you.” The low voice next to her ear drew a shuddering whimper of want from Yang.

“Please. Yes please.”

Her ruined panties were pulled down her hips and disappeared— she didn’t care where. Blake took a moment sucking a cherry-red mark into the tender flesh below Yang’s hip, setting her squirming. Yang nearly brought her hands down to tangle her fingers into the tousle of dark hair before she remembered herself and pressed them more firmly into the covers above her. The silent command was a challenge now, and she wouldn’t lose. She wouldn’t disobey. 

Blake tugged one of Yang’s long legs over her shoulder, peppering chaste kisses on the insides of Yang’s bare thighs before pressing her face reverently into the juncture of Yang’s legs. 

“Oh Gods…” The hot slide of Blake’s tongue against her throbbing clit was nearly enough to undo Yang completely. When Blake plunged into the pulsing opening below, the stuttering wordless cry that ripped from Yang’s throat accompanied the cresting, crashing wave of her pleasure. She quaked at the sensation exploding outward from her.

She had never cum so quickly, and from so little direct stimulation.

Blake continued to lick and suck at the sensitive flesh of her cunt, riding through the rise and fall of Yang’s hips as she bucked involuntarily through her orgasm. Her hand replaced her mouth, stroking Yang once, twice, and then two long fingers plunged deep into her.

Yang whimpered, bucking again against the pleasurable intrusion. She pressed into the sensation, chasing the slick slide within her. Her desperation was met by a velvety chuckle, immeasurably kind and cruel, as Blake stilled within Yang in spite of her urging.

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart.”

“For fucks sake, just FUCK me!” She didn’t care that she was nearly incoherent, she didn’t care that her tone was almost anguished in her need, she just wanted Blake to start moving again.

And she did. Slowly at first, then building up to a steady, punishing pace, Blake curled her fingers, somehow finding every hidden place that made Yang’s back arch off of the bed and her thighs tremble with building tension. Blake brought her mouth to Yang’s neck, nipping and kissing and then sucking bruises into her skin. A third finger joined the other two, the stretch that accompanied it heightening Yang’s pleasure exponentially.

It felt so good to be fucked so thoroughly, and she could tell by Blake’s heavy panting against the skin of her throat that the other woman was following her over the brink of desire. Just as Yang reached that knife’s edge of pleasure, Blake backed off, her movements becoming more shallow. Yang groaned, thrusting insistently back against the other woman’s hand, but Blake followed with her momentum, not permitting her to dictate the pace of their lovemaking. 

Blake slowly built her up and then pulled her back time after time, until Yang was so far gone with the potent cocktail of need and hunger and frustration and lust that she could do nothing more than drift on the ebbing and flowing waves of sensation. Words were tumbling from her lips, encouragement, pleading, sweet nothings, it was nonsense but she couldn’t contain it.

Blake responded in kind, showering her in praise and adoration, as she continued to steal all of Yang’s sanity with the steady push of her hand against Yang’s fluttering inner walls. 

After an eternity of mindless, all-consuming pleasure, Yang felt the unstoppable avalanche of thrilling ecstasy overflow within her. She curled upwards off of the mattress, almost sobbing in the force of her orgasm as she clenched and pulsed around Blake, the result of her gratification dripping down Blake’s hand and wrist in a warm, honey-slow flood. 

Everything was forgotten in the blinding wave of the moment. She wrapped her arms around the other woman’s neck, moaning weakly into soft black hair as Blake held her through wave after wave of her delayed pleasure. It was so much more than she had ever hoped for and she felt stripped raw and washed clean in one century-long moment. 

As Yang drifted back into her own body, her limbs tingling and her mind sluggish, Blake gently pulled out of her. Meeting Yang’s eyes, she slid her fingers into her mouth, licking them off in fastidious, deliberate strokes of her pink tongue.

Yang groaned in protest. “You’re trying to kill me, you really are.”

“But what a way to go.” There was a self-satisfied note to Blake’s voice, and Yang couldn’t blame her— it was very well-earned. 

Yang struggled to sit up, but her confused body refused to obey. “Mmmmgh, I want… I want…”

“What do you want?” Blake knelt on the bed next to her, running fingers through Yang’s tangled hair. 

“I want to get you off. But my stupid fucking body is being fucking stupid. Help.”

Blake smiled, running her fingertip down the bridge of Yang’s nose before impudently booping her on the tip. “No. I have a better idea. Stay here.” She shifted, her weight disappearing from the bed.

“Not like I can do anything else.” Yang grumbled, but she stretched luxuriantly. The mattress was so comfortable, it was okay that she was probably going to spend the rest of her life there.

“Are you always this grouchy after you cum?” Blake’s teasing voice drifted over from the vicinity of her feet. Suddenly she was back, completely and gloriously naked and straddling Yang’s thighs. Yang feasted upon the sight of her slender shoulders, her small, pert breasts and dark nipples, and the perfect geometry of her trim waist curving out to her generous hips. Blake was breathtaking.

“How the hell did I get so lucky?”

Blake blushed and glanced away shyly, as though this moment of honest admiration was somehow more unseemly than the laundry list of pleasurable torture she had so recently exacted upon Yang. She quickly recovered, however, leaning forward to kiss Yang gently as she slowly rotated her hips, grinding herself against the jut of Yang’s pubic bone. She pulled back, her eyes alight with pent up desire, her breath ghosting over Yang’s lips from centimeters away.

“I want to sit on your face.”

“Wow, yes, okay.” Nothing had ever sounded as good to Yang as that statement did in that moment. She obligingly flopped her still semi-responsive limbs as Blake helped her scoot up to the head of the bed, situating a pillow beneath her head so that she was at a good angle for their purpose. Yang swallowed in anticipation, taking a deep steadying breath.

Blake’s shapely thighs straddled her on either side of the pillow. Yang had a very nice look at the dusky, velvety folds of Blake’s peeking clit before Blake lowered herself onto Yang’s waiting mouth. 

Blake tasted sweet and clean and tart, and as Yang took her in she bent forward, gripping the bars of her headboard in white-knuckled hands. She was dripping with need, and Yang spent a few delicious moments chasing the trails of her wetness through the cleft of her cunt to where they had smeared upon her inner thighs. When Yang flattened her tongue against the rose petal form of Blake’s clit, the woman above her let out a startled, trembling moan and pressed down against the sensation. Encouraged, Yang sealed her mouth against the silky flesh, sucking gently as she traced the shape of Blake with her tongue.

“Oh shit, oh fuck, you wonderful…” It was Blake’s turn to babble now, quickly falling apart under Yang’s practiced attention. As skilled as she was at taking Yang apart strand by strand, the brunette’s thighs were soon trembling as she held herself up by sheer force of will and her grip upon the iron bars. 

Yang raised her hands, cupping the firm roundness of Blake’s ass as she guided the woman further into her ardent indulgence. She slid her tongue into Blake as she kept the light suction on her clit, dipping and swirling and dipping again into the throbbing warmth. As she flicked the tip of her tongue at the hard bud of flesh within the delicate folds, suddenly Blake was pulsing against her, a keening cry ripping out and echoing from the rafters. Yang slipped her tongue back into the tightening opening, moaning at the sensation of Blake coming apart in her mouth. She swallowed and swallowed again, her own saliva mixed with the sweet pleasure she had elicited in her new lover.

Blake pulled up off of her, panting and shaking from the strain and the sudden release of tension within her. One leg swung over Yang’s chest, and then the brunette collapsed to the bed beside her, curling decadently against Yang in the aftermath of her orgasm. An absentminded hand traced the heaving crest of Blake’s rib cage, and she nuzzled closer, tucking herself into the curve of Yang’s outstretched arm, her cheek resting on Yang’s shoulder.

It was so intimate, this quiet entanglement of their bodies, now both so spent they could do nothing more than wrap themselves tightly around each other. Yang wiped her mouth on her wrist, then found herself pressing a tender kiss to the sweat-dampened forehead of the woman in her arms, shocked by the aching fondness she felt for this enigmatic, passionate, fascinating creature. It was strange in its rightness, but she pushed away that train of thought even as it arose. Any oddness she could address in the morning. Right now, all Yang wanted to do was bathe herself in this amazing glow of contentment.

After a few moments, as Yang was beginning to doze, Blake groaned and pushed herself into a sitting position. When she moved to get up from the bed, Yang ensnared her in her arms, clinging like a clumsy octopus. 

“Nooooo, where are you going you’re so waaaarm…”

Blake snorted, gently disentangling herself. “I’m going to get a glass of water and then I’m going to blow out the candles. I’ll be right back.”

With this reassurance Yang released her, though she grumbled peevishly from the bed as she watched Blake move across the room. Through the door at the far end of a room there was a bathroom, and after a few moments of a running tap and splashing Blake returned with the promised water. Yang sat up and accepted the cool drink, surprised at how thirsty she was as she quickly polished off the entire glass. 

Yang was slightly bemused by the ritual of it. She had never been so attentive of a partner after sex, let alone having a partner give such care to her. It was strange, but nice, like so many things she was discovering with Blake.

Blake took the glass back into the bathroom and then carefully blew out each of the candles and switched off the fairy lights. She silenced the music that was still playing softly, and made her way back to the bed in the darkness.

“Get under the covers silly, you’re going to get cold.”

“I don’t wanna move. You could just lie on top of me like a blanket and then I’d be fine.”

Blake pushed Yang’s shoulder lightly, and tugged down the covers under her until Yang could wriggle between the sheets. Blake slid in after her, once more curling up against her like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

And maybe it was. As Yang drifted off to sleep, watching the tree branches dance against the crescent of the moon, she listened to the delicate sound of Blake’s breathing and wondered if there was anything better than that singular feeling.

______________________________________________________________

ART CORNER:

\- [Isometric study of Blake’s bedroom](https://probably-momo.tumblr.com/post/636791244158287872/isometric-layout-of-blakes-bedroom-in-my-fic) (for reference)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR’S NOTES:  
> -Things are getting SPICY! It seems like an eternity to me, since I’ve been writing this since April and started posting it in October, but it is a little fast in the context of Yang and Blake’s acquaintance. I’m going off of the @explosivesky premise that there is a tangible link between these two that makes the quick process of falling into bed and falling in love just the natural conclusion of their existence together. I’m so inspired by her writing, it only feels right to acknowledge the impact that her fic has had on my own writing.  
> -It is always good to have the safe sex convo with your partners. Strongly encouraged that you use a barrier, even if you have this convo, if you are not exclusive with your partners. BE SAFE KIDS.  
> -Blake’s room is designed off of @spoopsboops old bedroom, from when we first started dating. I love attic rooms with skylights.  
> -“Your Hand in Mine” by Explosions in the Sky is the theme behind this whole… Intimate interlude. I’ve added Recommended Listening to each of the previous chapters, based off of @spoopsboops Spotify playlist for this fic.  
> -Yang’s accident destroyed her right arm and also involved a fuck-ton of road rash as she slid on her side.  
> -Yang’s previous experiences, though numerous, did not really prepare her to receive genuine affection and attention in the bedroom. It kind of brings up the question: What is better? Lots of less-than-fulfilling sexual experiences, or no sexual experiences for a long stretch? There isn’t a correct answer to that question, by the way. Everyone is different.  
> -Blake is a koala-style cuddler and Yang is a starfish.  
> -Thank you to everyone who has made it through six chapters of awkwardness and tension to get to this, the first smutty chapter. There are two more smutty chapters peppered throughout the fic, because I like writing them and I hope you like reading them. And they are important BECAUSE PLOT. But it also feels a bit like a carrot on a stick… Stick with me and eventually you will be rewarded with some spicy bees.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RECOMMENDED LISTENING:  
> \- “Lost in the Wild”, WALK THE MOON  
> -“Run Away With Me”, Carly Rae Jepsen

Listen to the Spotify playlist (curated by the author’s wife, @spoopsboops) [HERE](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0NAkxw0y9KBjkbqX3Yum36?si=F0JnjDVrSoG3dLea7EAGbQ).

Follow on Tumblr and Instagram @probably_momo, for art and writing updates.

______________________________________________________________

She was so comfortable and warm— morning sunlight and the distant squabbling of sparrows roused her from a sweet and dreamless sleep. Yang luxuriated for a moment, drifting in the overall sense of well-being, tinged by slight, pleasurable discomfort. The delicious ache… Oh. Yes. She opened her eyes slowly, taking in the cozy attic room, the new green leaves on the tree through the skylight, and the cool, empty place next to her in the bed.

So that was how it was. The contentment faded like flames smothered in sand. Yang flopped back against the pillow, throwing an arm over her eyes and trying to fight down the nauseating defeat that welled up within her. She had been in this position before, but somehow the idea of having to sneak from Blake’s room like a thief after the night that they had spent together… it seemed wrong. It didn’t connect, like the dreamy events of the previous evening existed in a different universe from the crushing reality she now faced. 

Yang wrapped a throw blanket around herself and walked lightly to the bathroom, running the tap just enough to scrub her face and swish some water around her mouth. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and winced, both at the haystack that her hair had become, and the constellation of hickeys that stretched from beneath the blanket up to her throat. Fingers through her hair tamed it a bit, but the hickeys she would have to wear like a badge of shame.

She went on a scavenger hunt for her discarded clothes from the night before— her bra and boots by the door, tank top on the couch, her pants by the desk, underwear almost hidden under the bed, and her socks inexplicably on opposite sides of the room. Each garment was a reminder of how they had been removed, driving the knife of disappointment in deeper as she retraced their steps. 

She couldn’t wear the panties, opting to slide into her jeans commando and tuck them into her back pocket. She dressed quickly and as quietly as possible, painfully aware of the bedrooms belonging to Blake’s housemates right beneath her feet. Blake’s toothpaste was out on the counter in the bathroom, and Yang swirled some in her mouth and spat, trying to kill the hellacious morning-after breath she knew she had. She snagged her boots from beside the door, opting to carry them rather than risk waking the whole house by clomping down the stairs on their heavy soles.

Opening the bedroom door, Yang listened intently for a moment. The house was mostly silent, but distant sounds of kitchen industry reached her ears. Great, she was going to have to sneak past housemates after all. Having seen how much alcohol Sun and Neptune had consumed the previous night, she was shocked that they were already up at— she checked her scroll— 9:30 in the morning. Maybe it was the other housemate that Blake had briefly mentioned, the redhead Yang had caught a glimpse of, lounging on the porch when she had dropped Blake off for the second time. She swallowed. Forced interaction with a complete stranger in the house of a one-night stand was just about the last thing she wanted to do, especially with her makeup smudged from the night before, still smelling like sex, and adorned with the visible marks of her previous evening’s indiscretions.

She padded on socked feet down the stairs, feeling ludicrous but tiptoeing nevertheless past the half-open doors on the second floor and down to the first. At the foot of the stair she paused, listening again. The sounds of cooking were louder, and joined by the very soft sound of pop music. She could see her jacket in a forgotten pile by the door, but where was her flannel? She could have sworn that she’d lost it somewhere in the vicinity of the stairs… 

Peeking into the room that opened off of the right side of the front hall, her eyes took a moment to adjust to the dim light from the drawn curtains. It was a living room of sorts, a large TV mounted to the wall opposite her and a massive stone fireplace to the right. A sectional sofa like a small island took up most of the middle of the room, and sprawled on it were the sleeping forms of Sun and Neptune, draped across each other and snoring softly. The pause screen from a fighting game hung on the TV.

Seeing no trace of her flannel, Yang crept by the room carefully and headed toward the door. As she bent to pick up her jacket, the door behind her popped open. She jumped, tripping over her jacket in the process and stumbling against the wall. Disoriented, she turned to see a startled Blake standing in the doorway, a whisk in her hand.

Blake, clad in very little other than Yang’s flannel on top of her oversized trivia t-shirt, smiled so warmly at her that Yang’s stomach did a triple axel backflip straight into her small intestines. 

“Are you ok? Do you need to go? I’m making an omelette if you have time for breakfast.”

Yang stared at her, speechless, her brain racing to try to catch up to this complete reversal of circumstances. If she’d thought about it at all, she would’ve noticed Blake’s coat tangled with her own and realized that the other woman hadn’t slipped out as she had assumed. Blake was somehow even more beautiful in the morning light, her golden skin nearly glowing and her black bob, usually so carefully kept, swept back from her face in a large clip.

Blake’s expression dropped when Yang didn’t respond, concern creasing her forehead. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you woke up. I’m just so used to getting up for work at three in the morning, it’s really hard for me to sleep past seven. I didn’t think it would be fair to wake you up too, especially since you were sleeping so soundly...”

Yang cleared her throat, trying to smile back reassuringly. “No— it’s fine. I don’t have anywhere to be. And an omelette sounds great.” 

She followed Blake through the door into a bright and airy kitchen with an attached breakfast nook. The picture window surrounding the breakfast nook overlooked a small side garden with spring flowers just beginning to emerge. 

Blake led Yang over to the table and sat her down in a chair, running an affectionate hand along the side of her jaw before sweeping back into the kitchen. “I have a pot of tea on— I’m afraid I don’t have any coffee for you. I don’t think you’d like the powdered stuff that Sun drinks.”

“...Tea is just fine, thank you.” This was a dream. It had to be. Or a hallucination. There was no way a gorgeous, half-dressed woman was making her breakfast, the morning after they had fallen into bed together. Sure, the sex was amazing, but she was pretty sure she had been on the receiving end of the best parts. Blake didn’t owe her anything.

A large mug with a cartoon cat on the side was presented to her. Yang looked from it, up into Blake’s sweet, curious expression, and accepted it reverently. “How are you real?”

That made Blake pause. She looked deeply into Yang’s face, as though she were trying to solve a complex riddle and Yang was the only clue. Coming to some unspoken conclusion, she reached out and gently removed the mug from Yang’s grasp, setting it down onto the table. Before Yang could object to her caffeine being taken away, Blake was in her lap, straddling her legs with her palms planted firmly on Yang’s shoulders. “You were afraid I had just up and left you lying there.” A statement, not a question, but it was kind. 

Yang couldn’t quite meet her gaze. “It wouldn’t have been the first time.”

Blake exhaled and inhaled, then gently caught Yang’s chin between her fingers, forcing violet eyes to meet gold. She leaned in slowly and pressed her lips to Yang’s, a soft, lingering kiss that tasted of lavender and bergamot and sent sparks shooting beneath Yang’s skin. Blake drew back, her lips slightly parted and her lashes veiling her eyes. “I can’t— I wouldn’t…” A deep breath, her hands restlessly combing through Yang’s hair close to her scalp. “To be perfectly honest, I don’t have the best track record when it comes to breaking hearts. But I wouldn‘t hurt you Yang. Not purposefully. Never.”

Yang’s palms rested on bare, muscular thighs, letting the warm, silky skin ground her even as she felt like her mind was lost in the clouds. “Thank you. I’m… I have a pretty bad reputation for not giving much of a shit what damage my actions cause. A good part of it is definitely earned— but I’m trying to work on that. But, yeah. I don’t want to hurt you either.”

Another sweet kiss was pressed to her lips, and this time Yang let herself enjoy it. The dreamy, molasses-slow giddiness enveloped her in that sunlit kitchen, breaths mingling and touches lingering and tender. 

Then Blake was sliding off of her lap, chuckling lightly as Yang half-followed her, chasing the soothing contact. “I’m going to finish making our omelette. I’ve got some fresh thyme from the garden that survived the winter, and some gruyere cheese, if that sounds good to you?”

“I don’t think I’ve had gruyere before, but that sounds awesome.” Yang lifted the mug to her lips, blowing lightly across the surface before taking a sip. It was Earl Grey, heavy on the bergamot and accented by other sweet floral aromas. It was also strong, which she appreciated, given how her body was protesting the uncharacteristically early hour in light of how late they were up the night before. Yang watched Blake glide around the kitchen, hips swaying to the pop music she was playing from her scroll, beating eggs and grating cheese and humming along to the melodies. “Can I help with anything?”

“Sure, once I get the eggs in the pan it’s going to go pretty fast. Would you grab a couple of plates from that cabinet over there, and some forks from the drawer next to the fridge?” Blake indicated the locations as she swirled a generous pat of butter around in the bottom of a pan to melt it. “You can put the plates here next to me, and the forks can go on the table. Thank you.”

Yang did as requested, squeezing between Blake and the wooden kitchen island in the middle of the room to gather the plates and forks. She set the forks on the table and, not quite sure what else she could do without being a nuisance, sat back down to drink her tea and watch Blake cook.

It was almost hypnotic. The slender brunette moved with graceful confidence, pouring fluffy beaten eggs into the pan and quickly stirring the eggs with a wooden spatula. Blake bit her lower lip in concentration, something that Yang found surprisingly adorable.

A flicker of movement by the back door drew Yang’s attention from her personal chef for the morning. A small black cat stepped daintily through the flap mounted in the door, pausing to sniff the air appreciatively before turning to fix Yang with a liquid gold gaze. Yang offered her hand to the cat, moving slowly so as not to scare her. One step, then another, and then the little creature was leaning forward to brush long, dark whiskers across her knuckles. After a few seconds of inspection, the cat moved closer to rub velvet-soft cheeks across Yang’s fingertips. Yang ran the backs of her fingers down the cat’s jaw and across the bright white star on her chest, captivated. Feeling slightly bolder, she scratched the little triangle ears and elicited a small grumbling purr of bliss.

“Holy shit.”

Yang looked up to see Blake, holding two plates of steaming omelette and wearing a mixture of awe and delight on her face. The little cat also glanced over, giving a small chirrup of greeting, and then trotted off into the darkened house.

“Aww, she went away…”

Blake carefully set the plates on the table and slid into the chair next to Yang, still looking pleased and impressed. “That’s Shadow. She never lets anyone pet her— just me and sometimes Sun. How did you do that?”

“I dunno, she just came over to say hi. I like animals.” Yang felt a little uncomfortable under Blake’s scrutiny, glancing at her host to make sure that she hadn’t crossed some important, invisible line.

“I guess she can tell. I’m glad.” Blake beamed at Yang, momentarily bridging the space between them to clasp Yang’s fingers and give them a gentle squeeze. “She was a rescue… Well, she just showed up one day, half starved, and decided she lived here. I don’t know where she was before, but she definitely doesn’t like most humans. Certainly not enough to let a stranger pet her.” She gave Yang’s fingers another squeeze before releasing her hand. 

“Well, that’s… That’s super cool.” Yang smiled back, meeting Blake’s gaze. A gaze whose color very closely mirrored those slit-pupiled eyes that had studied her only moments before. She blinked, breaking the knife’s edge spell that held her transfixed for a fraction of an eternity. “We should eat these eggs before they get cold.”

The omelette looked amazing— fluffy and golden yellow, flecked with bright green herbs and a slow river of melting white cheese pouring out of either side. There was also a small, fresh salad on her plate, garnished with cherry tomatoes and a very light dressing. It smelled fantastic.

“Wow, this is gourmet! Do you always eat breakfast like this?”

Blake snorted, a sound that Yang was starting to recognize as a self-deprecatory deflection. “Hell no, I usually have a granola bar at four in the morning on the way to work. If I’m feeling especially motivated sometimes I’ll make a smoothie.” She raised a forkful of the omelette to her mouth, her eyes closing in enjoyment as she chewed. “This is a special treat. You know, since I have a guest.”

“Well, I’m really impressed. Thank you.” 

Silence stretched between them as they both dug into their breakfasts with gusto. The eggs were just as cloudlike as they looked, accentuated by the aroma of the fresh herbs. She really liked the gruyere cheese, creamy and salty, melding seamlessly with the lightness of the rest of the omelette. The salad was a perfect counterpoint, the tangy balsamic vinaigrette on the crunchy greens and the burst of the tiny red tomatoes cutting through the richness. The food combined with the energetic beat of the music playing in the background (Blake had turned it down as soon as she realized she had company), the warmth of the sunlight slanting through the picture window, and the faint, intoxicating smell of Blake seated next to her, made Yang feel all the more like she had stepped from waking into a very pleasant dream.

She cleared her throat, pushing a tomato around her plate with her fork. “Thanks. You know, for not kicking me out or leaving me wondering.” She exhaled. “And for making me breakfast. Gods, this is the nicest thing…”

Blake studied her, eyebrows furrowed. “...You’re welcome? I’m not sure what to say.” She picked up her mug and sipped her tea, still studying her companion over the rim. “I feel like this is just bare minimum human decency. But maybe it’s strange? I haven’t… Had anyone over in a really long time. I hope it’s not weird.”

“It’s not weird at all! It’s just really, really nice!” Yang rushed to reassure her. She speared the tomato decisively and used it to gesture at Blake. “Also, how is it that you haven’t been with anyone in three years and you can still do something like THAT?” The tomato swung upwards, encompassing the implied space of the bedroom two floors above them. “I’m still a little wobbly!”

Blake laughed, then caught Yang’s gesticulating hand, leaning forward and daintily biting the tomato off of the end of the fork. She gazed through her eyelashes up at Yang and damn, if that didn’t have her brain pleasantly tail spinning to the last time she had seen that gaze, Blake sprawled deliciously between Yang’s spread knees.

Yang swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “That. That is the sort of thing I’m talking about. Who gave you the right to be so damn sexy?”

Leaning back her chair, a smug grin on her face, Blake shrugged. “I said it’s been three years since I slept with anyone else. That doesn’t mean it’s been three years since I…explored my more sensual side.” She uncrossed and crossed her legs, flashing Yang a tantalizing glimpse of long thighs and silky skin to where they vanished into black boyshorts. “And it doesn’t hurt that you are very, very easy to read.”

With a gasp of feigned outrage, Yang pressed her hand to her chest. “Easy to read? Why, I’ll have you know that I am a highly complex person with vast hidden depths of character. Don’t get too cocky!” The thoroughly unimpressed look on Blake’s face broke through her facade, and she dissolved into giggles. Blake got caught up in the moment too, and they both ended up laughing riotously.

“What the hell is going on in here?” Sun leaned heavily against the door frame, eyes still foggy with sleep. The loud tropical shirt he had worn to trivia the night before was worse for the wear after an evening of carousing and couch-sleeping. 

Neptune shuffled through the door past him, yawning so wide his jaw cracked. Yang winced in sympathy. “Did you at least have the decency of making some coffee before you so inconsiderately woke us up?” The blue-haired man poked around the counter in the vicinity of the electric kettle.

“Ugh, no. That crap you call coffee barely qualifies as such. It’s in the cupboard. No, the one to the right. Neptune, it’s where it always is, don’t be an idiot.”

With the arrival of Blake’s housemates, the warm bubble of serenity that had been encompassing them burst abruptly. Yang felt anxious and jittery, wondering if she should go. Her presence and Blake’s state of undress painted an obvious picture of exactly what they had been up to. But Blake was at ease, one arm draped over the back of her chair as she twisted to watch and good naturedly taunt her exhausted housemates. 

“Actually Neptune, don’t you have the swing shift today? You have to be at the shop in, like, twenty minutes.”

With a yelp, Neptune stopped his search for the elusive coffee and bolted out of the kitchen, pounding up the stairs to his room. They could hear him crashing around a few moments later, swearing as he struggled to change out of his clothes from the previous night and into something work appropriate.

Sun joined Blake as they laughed heartily at their friend’s misfortune, but he grabbed a thermos in addition to his own mug, emptying packets of powdered latte mix into each before pouring boiling water over them. He met Neptune by the front door, handing his frantic friend the coffee and a maroon zip-front hoodie.

“Oh fuck. I love you man, thanks.” Then Neptune was out the door and gone, keys jingling as he dashed down the sidewalk to the sky blue Mini Cooper parked at the curb. 

Sun returned, shaking his head and still laughing slightly, though Yang noticed that the tips of his ears were flushed pink. She only had a second to consider that reaction before he leaned around Blake, stealing her fork and snagging a bite of the remaining omelette on her plate. Blake growled at him in irritation and shoved him away, which he ignored as he continued to lounge against the smaller woman. He moaned, rolling his eyes in dramatic appreciation of the morsel of egg. “Damn, that’s fucking amazing. Why don’t you ever make omelette breakfasts for us, Blakey?”

“Don’t call me that! And I would, if you were ever up early enough to eat breakfast— at best it would be an omelette for late lunch, the way your sleep schedule works.” She finally succeeded in displacing him from her shoulders, making a show of brushing invisible Sun germs off of Yang’s flannel. 

His gaze was sharp but amused as he took in the bruises that showed on Yang’s pale, freckled skin above the collar of her tank top. He winked at Yang, then snagged his own steaming cup of instant coffee off of the counter. As he disappeared upstairs, his voice trailed down behind him. “I hope you don’t need hot water for anything, because I’m about to take a reeeeaaaally long shower.” 

Blake sighed, her expression harassed and a bit embarrassed by the momentary bluster. “Those are my roommates for you. Can’t live with ‘em… Well, you just can’t live with ‘em.”

“I heard that!” Came the shout from above.

“GOOD!”

Yang had to laugh in spite of her own uncertainty at the situation. “They’re quite a pair.”

They tidied up the breakfast things. Yang took over washing the dishes since Blake had cooked. Blake didn’t argue, grabbing a towel and drying each item as Yang finished with it, then putting it away. The water was only tepid, as Sun had carried out his threat to take a very self-indulgent shower, but it worked for their purposes. By the time they were done, Yang felt as if she had been in this house, this kitchen, for years. Blake somehow made her feel effortlessly welcome, like a Yang-shaped hole had been missing from her domestic life and now it was filled. She found herself watching Blake again, the graceful movement of her arms as she reached to put a glass on a shelf, or to hang the copper frying pan from the rack above the kitchen island.

“Do you have any plans for today?” The question surprised her even as she asked it. She was up to her elbows in suds, distractedly scrubbing one of their tea mugs with a long-handled brush, and the words slid from her mouth as her mind formed the thought.

Blake smiled. “Nothing important. Do you have something in mind?”

“Well, if you want…” She paused, but it was too late to second guess herself now, the only way forward was through. “We could go on an adventure?”

Golden eyes crinkled in delight. “I love adventures.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR’S NOTES:  
> \- Oh the Yangst of it all.  
> \- Some scraps for my fellow Seamonkeys shippers. @spoopsboops made me promise to write a fic for our boys when I’m done with “Faults”.  
> \- Dear readers, let us all live vicariously through this fic and fantasize that we live in this gorgeous house too.  
> \- Get you someone who’s good with animals.  
> \- If you want to make Blake’s omelette, look up Jacque Pepin’s omelette tutorial video. All it takes is eggs and butter, and if you want to make Blake’s just beat minced thyme into the eggs and fill with cheese.  
> \- LET BLAKE BE A GOOD COOK 2020  
> \- Try having a small salad with your breakfast— it’s really a treat.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be taking a brief hiatus for the Christmas and New Years holidays (mostly to give myself some lead time on future chapters, but also because I HAVE SO MUCH TO DO). 
> 
> Check out the fluffy/smutty Christmas one shot I just posted if you need some Bees to tide you over. <3
> 
> RECOMMENDED LISTENING:  
> -“It’s Strange (feat.K. Flay)”, Louis the Child and K. Flay  
> -“give me flowers”, Julianna Zachariou

Listen to the Spotify playlist (curated by the author’s wife, @spoopsboops) [HERE](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0NAkxw0y9KBjkbqX3Yum36?si=F0JnjDVrSoG3dLea7EAGbQ).

Follow on Tumblr and Instagram @probably_momo, for art and writing updates.

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A low layer of fog clung to the trees and hedges when she awoke, the morning after the trivia championship. A stalwart robin had taken up residence in the elm tree in the backyard, and its stubbornly cheerful song cut through Blake’s pleasant, easily forgotten dreams as effectively as a bucket of ice water over her head. There was a warm, soft body in the bed next to her, and she had a half second of blinding terror before the events of the previous night came flooding back to her slowly waking mind. Yang. Was in her bed. Quite naked, and in her bed. 

Blake sat up carefully, not wanting to jar the other woman awake with her movements. She took a moment to marvel at the picture Yang made, her face softened in the embrace of sleep, long honey strands of hair splayed out across the pillow. In this unguarded moment there was something almost ethereal about the play of morning light across Yang’s freckled cheeks, how the rays seemed to linger on her lashes, giving her the semblance of a gilded goddess amidst the mundane trappings of Blake’s bedroom. Then Yang grumbled in her sleep and rolled away, out of the beam of light. She was human once more— the glorious, intriguing, confusing woman that had Blake trapped in her inescapable gravitational pull.

Gingerly swinging her legs over the edge of the mattress and standing as quietly as she was able, Blake picked her way across the room to her dresser to grab some clean underwear and a pair of pajama shorts. Her right slipper was hiding under the desk, not next to its twin by the foot of her bed. Shadow’s work, certainly— her cat liked to remind her in subtle ways that she, not Blake, was in the driver's seat of this arrangement. With knowledge that came from experience, Blake gave the rogue slipper a practiced shake, knocking loose the catnip mouse that had found its way into the slipper’s toe. 

Draped over the back of the desk chair was the massive t-shirt, her ill-gotten trivia gains. Blake smiled wryly, tugging the shirt over her head. Sure enough it hit mid-thigh, the sleeves falling down almost to her elbows. But she liked the maroon color and the graphic of a crow wearing a mortarboard and perched on a skull, with a speech bubble that proclaimed the wearer of the shirt to be a CROW BAR BATTLE OF THE BRAINS CHAMPION. It was whimsical and a bit macabre. She would probably end up turning it into a late-summer tank top, but for now it made great pajamas.

As quietly as she was able, she ran warm water into a washcloth and washed away the lingering fogginess of morning. She brushed her teeth with equal care, glancing out through the bathroom door to make sure that Yang was still slumbering peacefully. A brush through her hair got rid of the tangles, and she pulled it up into a messy twist at the back of her head.

She skipped lightly down the stairs, relatively certain that she wouldn’t wake the boys even if they were in bed. The gentle snoring from the living room told her where she would find them. In sleep they tangled together like a bone once broken, now knitting in tender strands. Honesty was easy when affection could be blamed on high spirits and the consumption of alcohol, and they could shrug off any awkwardness in the morning when nursing hangovers topped their priorities. 

Sun sprawled, his back at an awkward angle over the arm, one leg stretched out along the couch cushions and the other foot resting on the floor with a careless splay of knees. Neptune was half-draped across him, tucked between the outstretched leg and the back of the couch, his cheek pressed into his best friend’s chest and arm hanging loose across Sun’s hip. 

For a moment Blake considered hunting down a blanket to drape over them, but she thought better of it. It wasn’t all that cold in the house, and she didn’t want to break the moment that hovered in the limbo of possibility, encapsulated by that dark, quiet room.

As she turned away, Blake spotted Yang’s sunny yellow and black flannel lying at the foot of the stairs. It had been abandoned there almost as soon as they were through the front door. She scooped it up and pulled it over her shoulders, snuggling indulgently into the garment which, while it fit Yang so perfectly, was pleasantly large on Blake’s slight frame. It felt illicit, but also right, an ellipsis following the evening of mutual discovery. She thrilled at the chance, the potentiality, that such exploration and fulfillment had happened once; might happen again.

The first cup of tea she drank in the kitchen, enjoying the perfect stillness of the sleeping house. When the warmth and light of the sun finally reached beyond the branches of the elm that dwarfed the house, she made herself another cup. Grabbing the throw blanket she left by the back door for just this purpose, she went out and curled up on the wide hanging bench swing in the dappled light and fresh breeze. The elm was the parent, or the grandparent perhaps, of the tree that stood in the front yard, still magnificent but without the wealth of years that made trunks swell wide and branches twist in ways that captured the imaginations of waking and dreaming minds.

Blake’s scroll vibrated in her shorts pocket, startling her out of her reverie,

**:Ilia: Did you make it home last night?**

She winced, guilt once more pinching at her gut. Ilia had come by to bus away the carnage of glasses and empty bottles left in the wake of the jubilant trivia runners-up. She had given Blake a smile and a wink, but Blake hadn’t had the opportunity to say anything else to her before they left. Not “Have a nice night”, no chance for “Thanks for supporting me”, and definitely no time or even the right words to say “I’m sorry I can’t love you back, the way you need me to”. 

**:Blake: We made it back to my place in one piece. How did the rest of your evening go?**

**:Ilia: Nowhere near as good as yours did, if she stayed the night with you. ;) Proud of you.**

**:Ilia: it was quiet after your group left. I only had to 86 one guy, and only because if I didn’t do it the new girl was gonna bludgeon him with a muddler. I think she’s growing on me.**

**:Blake: It figures that imminent violence would be the way to earn your good graces.**

**:Blake: Let’s catch up later this week. Grab sushi for dinner or something.**

**:Ilia: Sounds good. Don’t forget it’s your turn to buy. <3**

**:Ilia: Have a great day Blake. You need this.**

Maybe she did need this. Maybe it was more than a selfish indulgence. Ilia’s reassurances, her familiar banter, and easy acceptance of these new circumstances did ease some of the emotions that battled within Blake. 

A small chirruping meow from the bottom of the steps helped too— Shadow knew that her human was awake, and wanted to know why Blake wasn’t being useful and petting her. Blake joined her cat on the stoop, smiling as the little black creature rolled around in the dust and dead leaves. She picked bits of leaf and twigs out of the cat’s velvety fur, then followed as Shadow led the way into the little herb garden that was only just waking up from a long winter’s hibernation.

When Blake went back inside, it was with a better mood, a handful of hardy creeping thyme, and a thought towards making some breakfast for herself and her new more-than-friend. As she gathered what she needed, half singing along to a pop playlist on her Bluetooth speaker, she heard the faint sound of footfalls on the stairs. As Blake opened the door to the kitchen to greet her, Yang startled, stumbling into the wall. 

“Are you ok? Do you need to go? I’m making an omelette if you have time for breakfast.” 

Coming up slightly dazed, Yang stared at Blake like she had stepped out of a dream. The blonde was mostly dressed, minus the flannel that Blake still wore and her boots, which she carried in one hand.

Perhaps it hadn’t been such a good idea to leave her alone in an unfamiliar house. Blake had never spent the night with someone so new and she wasn’t sure of the proper morning-after protocol, but she was pretty certain it didn’t involve leaving your partner to wake up in an empty bed. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you woke up. I’m just so used to getting up for work at three in the morning, it’s really hard for me to sleep past seven. I didn’t think it would be fair to wake you up too, especially since you were sleeping so soundly...” 

Yang finally met her eyes and gave her a shaky smile. Not super convincing, but it was there. “No— it’s fine. I don’t have anywhere to be. And an omelette sounds great.”

So Blake led her back into the kitchen and offered her a cup of tea, trying not to think about how that was exactly what her mom would do anytime someone was upset or hurt. And Yang was upset. She was trying to hide it, but her steady self-confidence had fallen behind a veil of uncertainty. She kept glancing back to Blake, as if to reassure herself that the other woman was still there. When Blake brought her a steaming mug, Yang couldn’t contain her disbelief any longer.

“How are you real?”

That wouldn’t do at all. 

This lack of confidence did not suit Yang, and Blake wanted to find some absolution for her part, however accidental, in Yang’s current unhappy state. She needed to drive away that uncertainty, that shadow of doubt that clouded those warm violet eyes. So Blake crowded into her lover’s lap, holding her gently but purposefully. “You were afraid I had just up and left you lying there.”

Yang’s inability to meet her gaze was confirmation enough. “It wouldn’t have been the first time.”

As she tilted Yang’s chin, Blake found herself drowning in soft lilac pools of resignation. The kiss was not calculated— it was the only response she could make. Desperate to show her sincerity, Blake kissed Yang with all of the sweetness and desire she could muster. Yang was at a point where she thought that such rejection was the logical conclusion, even after the tenderness, the true emotion, the intense  _ connection _ that had existed between them, even before they had lost themselves in passion.

“I couldn’t… I wouldn’t….” As she came up for air the words tumbled free of her lips. Yang had to know now, but if she didn’t know, Blake would lay it out plainly for her. “To be perfectly honest, I don’t have the best track record when it comes to breaking hearts. But I wouldn‘t hurt you Yang. Not purposefully. Never.” Blake waited a long moment, searching Yang’s expression for understanding. Relief made her giddy as Yang smiled back, truly smiled for the first time that morning, and she couldn’t hold back from bringing her lips to Yang’s perfect mouth once more. It was a meltingly slow kiss now, with Yang responding in kind. The teasing graze of teeth against her lower lip and the gentle exploration of a tongue against her own had Blake’s heart leaping, threatening to escape her ribs entirely. 

She finally managed to extract herself, pulling away reluctantly but reminded of her previous task. The familiar bold sparkle had returned to the way that Yang watched her. She set to completing their breakfast with Yang assisting, the sheer aura of happy contentment that radiated off of both of them filling that bright familiar room so fully that Blake felt like she floated a few inches from the ground as she beat eggs and melted butter. 

When she turned to see Yang bent forward, gently caressing Shadow under the chin, she thought she really would drift free of gravity. If Shadow, shy and apprehensive of humanity in general, would approach Yang— and even lean into her fingertips where they brushed below her whiskers— that said more than anything else that Yang was someone to be trusted and treasured.

When presented with the relatively simple breakfast, Yang’s honest admiration had Blake glowing with abashed delight. They ate companionably, and when Yang almost tumbled over the edge once more into self-deprecatory uncertainty, honesty and a moment of sincere vulnerability on Blake’s part brought them swinging back around onto more balanced footing. 

Blake wasn’t about to let herself be placed on a pedestal. She knew from experience how lonely that could be, if followed through to its conclusion. The way Yang looked at her now, affectionate and a bit teasing, was so genuine and human. Blake wanted it to continue for as long as possible, before something happened and she broke the spell.

Sun and Neptune made an appearance and suddenly Yang was uncomfortable again, drawing into herself. Blake did what she could to normalize the situation, and to communicate to Yang that there was nothing to fear. Blake’s housemates were 23 going on 13, charmingly irresponsible and decidedly ridiculous.

By the time the second floor shower was thundering above them, Yang’s hackles had settled once more and she was relaxed enough to laughingly shove Blake away from the sink and insist that, since Blake had cooked, Yang would wash the dishes. Out of the corner of her eye, Blake caught Yang watching her move through the kitchen. The warmth in Yang’s gaze brought a pleasant flush to her cheeks. 

“Do you have any plans for the day?”

Blake glanced up, her delight at the question transparent in her face and her demeanor. “Nothing important. Do you have something in mind?”

A moment of hesitation but Yang moved past it quickly. “Well, if you want… We could go on an adventure?”

“I love adventures.”

______________________________________________________________

The adventure began with Yang dropping her off at the Crow Bar to pick up her car. Yang left her with the assurance that she would meet Blake back at her house, after she swung by her dorm to shower and change. Blake gave her a guilty smile, reaching out to brush fingertips against the daisy chain of hickeys that ran down the right side of Yang’s neck.

Yang gave her a wry grin. “Uh, and maybe put on some concealer or something.”

It was just past noon, and the day-shift bartender was leaning next to the front door, smoking a cigarette. He was a dark skinned, stylish man, wearing a pair of slim black sunglasses and a hat that would look more at home on a man three times his age. Blake knew him by face, if not name, from the number of times his funk band had played at the bar. She waved cheerfully as she unlocked her Honda and plopped down on the driver’s seat. He gave a careless wave back before taking one last pull from his cigarette, grinding the butt under his heel, and disappearing inside. 

Once home, Blake took a quick shower of her own and then assessed the possibilities the day had to offer. She would need to wear something that would work for the motorcycle, but she also wanted to feel cute. She settled for a pair of black buckle boots with low heels, faded black skinny jeans, and a grey-purple t-shirt with a repeating pattern of sparkly silver stars across it. She pulled her denim hoodie jacket over the top and grabbed a black knit hat to cover her wet hair. After a moment of consideration she slid her sketchbook and a pouch of colored pencils into her small backpack, then dashed down the stairs. 

As Blake stepped out onto the front porch, Yang pulled up into the driveway behind her Honda. Leaving the motorcycle running, she swung off of the bike and went around the back to retrieve the outrageous helmet. Yang slid her face shield up so that Blake could see her violet eyes sparkling with amusement and mischief. 

Blake smiled as she accepted the helmet. “So, what’s next?”

Yang’s grin was pleased and mischievous. “Top secret, babe. You wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise, would you?” She hopped back onto her bike, gesturing for Blake to join her.

Sliding in close behind Yang, Blake wrapped her arms snugly around the other woman’s waist. “Well, I guess I’m trusting you to not turn out to be secretly a murderer or something.”

“Oh don’t worry, I try not to be a secret murderer until at least the third date.”

“Old fashioned then?”

Yang barked out a laugh, giving Blake’s hand a quick squeeze before snapping her face shield back down and bracing to kick back the stand. 

Blake pushed her face shield down as well, fully aware that she was grinning like an absolute idiot and not finding it within herself to care. She could feel Yang’s belly shaking with contained mirth. She was happy. 

As they turned off of the residential streets and out onto the main road, Blake thrilled at the sensation of the wind whipping past her. She lost track of the turns they took, lulled by the warmth of the sun on her shoulders and the thrum of the engine between her knees. 

It could have been twenty minutes, it could have been forty, but they took a turn onto a tree-lined two lane road. Blake glanced around, trying to get her bearings. They were out on the edge of Vale, where modern housing developments gave way to the old farmhouses on rolling acreage that had stood the test of time in the face of urban advancement. 

They rolled to a stop and Yang killed the engine. They shared the shabby parking lot with a few other cars, but it was hardly packed. A tall hedge ran along the front of the lot, the inset iron gate standing open. Beyond, Blake could hear the sound of water running over rocks and distant bird song. 

Yang pulled a brown canvas backpack out of the storage bin in the back and locked the helmets away, then turned to offer her hand to Blake.

It felt significant, that hand. Blake reached out, the desire to prolong the moment leading her to hesitate slightly before she slid her hand into Yang’s. She let herself be led through the gate, pausing only momentarily so that Yang could shove five lien into the donation box. The hedge was thick, creating a leafy green tunnel leading out into golden sunshine beyond. Their footsteps sounded loud against the quiet that surrounded them. 

Then they emerged, blinking, into the sun, and into a truly magnificent curated garden. A set of stone stairs descended in front of them, the enticing pathways of blooming rhododendrons and artfully pruned trees urging Blake to race off and get lost in their colorful, winding embrace. At the center of the garden, gleaming like a diamond in afternoon light, stood a palatial greenhouse of blue metal and shining glass. It was shaped like a cross or an x, and it looked like it had been pulled straight from the pages of a romantic novel.

Blake turned back to Yang, dumbfounded. “I had no idea there was something like this in Vale.”

“It’s pretty spectacular, huh? This whole place used to belong to a family from Atlas that decided to move out here. They were pretty close to royalty, from what I heard. One of the daughters dedicated her life to collecting plants from all corners of Remnant, growing some plants out here and in the floating gardens over there.” She indicated a distant flash of light on water, a haze of green visible through the dazzling rays. “The rest are in the greenhouse. When her parents passed away, she chose to give the gardens to the city of Vale, and to retire quietly back to Atlas.”

It was so beautiful, Blake felt like her heart was being broken and remade with each breath she took. She tightened her grasp on Yang’s hand, looking at the other woman through misty eyes. “It’s wonderful Yang. Thank you.”

Yang grinned bashfully, shrugging one shoulder. “I thought you’d like it here. But you haven’t seen anything yet! We’ve got to go to the greenhouse.”

Yang led Blake down the wide stairs and onto the gravel path through the rhododendrons. It was a good thing that she still held Yang’s hand, because Blake was completely entranced by the flowers, gazing about herself in pure delight. After she tripped a couple of times on loose stones or a particularly large root, she forced herself to pay attention to where she was walking, though casting an occasional reverent glance at the woody shrubs with their glossy emerald leaves and gauzy bright blossoms.

There was a park of turf grass surrounding the greenhouse, as though the designers of the garden did not want to take away from its magnificence by forcing it to compete with any one plant for attention. Blake could see condensation on the windows of the wing parallel to them. Yang moved in front of her, gallantly opening one of the large double doors so that she could step through. As she passed, Blake noticed that a motif of vining roses had been worked into the doorframe, and continued along the length of each of the metal struts to where she could no longer see them. The cost of this intricacy alone was boggling, but she was also awed by the attention to detail that would lead a designer to put such delicacy into the foundational aspects of the structure. 

She found herself in a small anteroom. The faceted glass panels set in the round cupola high overhead sent a myriad of rainbows dancing over the area below. It had been adapted into an informational center, almost a museum, to the founding and creation of the garden. Yang grabbed a paper map from a display, then motioned for Blake to follow her into the greenhouse itself.

Through another set of double doors, slightly less ornate but still quite as impressive as the exterior pair, they found themselves in the first wing of the garden. It took up the eastern-most arm of the greenhouse, as well as the center of the cross, and it appeared to be filled with plants that grew happily in and around Vale. With the warmth of the enclosed space, summer blossoms and foliage showed on the undergrowth and the trees. Each specimen was identified with a small black plaque, embossed in golden lettering. The path meandered like a forest trail through trees, shrubs, and delicate clusters of green, all planted and tended to look like a sunny mountain trail. 

Vibrant orange stargazer lilies, bluebells, paintbrush, tumbles of daisies, and patches of delicate yellow wood violets sprawled across the mulch of the floor. Sprays of fragrant white blooms from currant bushes stood out with the new emerald-green of tall ostrich and bracken ferns. Above their heads, maple trees and spruces were carefully groomed to fit within the arching three-story roof of the greenhouse. There was a staircase that led upwards to a catwalk, allowing visitors to walk among the branches and admire the garden from a different perspective.

At the center of the greenhouse the foliage opened up. The area was carefully planned around a beautiful fountain, which depicted four young women in simple robes who each held baskets of carved stone flowers, spilling water into the pool below. White water lilies bloomed in the pool created by the dish of the fountain, accompanied by the ruffled blossoms of yellow and purple irises. The area had cobblestone pavers with velvety green moss growing between each stone and had the feel of a quiet meadow in an old forest. Stone benches were set in the shelter of the trees, from which one could sit and admire the fountain.

The other three wings were separated from this atrium by high walls of metalwork and glass with familiar wide double doors. Above each door there were signs: the northern wing read ‘Mantle’, the western wing read ‘Menagerie’, and the southern wing read ‘Vacuo’. Through the glass, warped and distorted by time, Blake could make out different shades of green and splashes of color beyond the walls. 

“Where do you want to go first?” Yang couldn’t have looked more pleased if she had built and planted the entire garden herself. 

Mutely, Blake pointed towards the ‘Mantle’ wing. She didn’t know very much about the continent of Solitas, other than a little about its history of social strife and the fact that it was quite cold much of the year. Certainly nothing about what plants might be native to that austere climate.

As they pushed through the heavy doors, she inhaled a breath of surprisingly bracing air scented lightly with spruce and pine. Gravel and bark chips crunched under their boots. Evergreen trees seemed out of place in a man-made structure, their haunted, twining branches reaching fruitlessly towards the clear blue sky beyond the glass. 

A babbling stream ran down the length of the enclosed world, disappearing under the wall beside the door they had just come through. Along its edges bloomed buttercups and constellations of forget-me-nots. Between the gnarled trunks of the alpine trees grew low holly bushes, huckleberries, and other hardy shrubs, the soil covered by plush mats of mosses. Boulders mottled with lichen looked as though they had stood in place for millennia, deposited by some ancient glacier or geological upheaval. It was difficult to believe that everything inside the glass walls had been placed there and tended by human hands. 

“How do they keep it so cold in here?” Blake tucked her hands in her pockets and pushed up beside Yang, causing the other woman to lift her arm and wrap it around Blake’s shoulders obligingly. The bite in the air was more significant than the relatively warm day outside would allow.

“When it was first built I think they just relied on letting air flow through the colder areas and keeping a boiler going to heat the hot climates. These days it’s all done with insulated glass and air conditioning.” 

Side by side, they ambled down the path through the artificial subalpine forest. Blake’s hand found its way into Yang’s once more, the heat of their conjoined palms making Blake’s chest feel tight and full. 

The path doubled back on itself and they arrived back at the door, returning once more to the sunkissed forest glen at the heart of the greenhouse. Blake led the way, Yang following close behind, linked together by clasped hands as they crossed the courtyard.

The door to the south was next, the dry heat that greeted them catching Blake by surprise as much as the chill of the previous wing. Sand and red-brown stone covered the floor, the path sunken below the level of the floor and lined with wide, rough-hewn paving stones. Surreal cacti and spiked plants of every shape and size grew in profusion, surrounded by bright yellow sunflowers, purple lupine, and red and orange poppies. 

Blake pulled her scroll from her pocket, suddenly filled with the need to capture the moment and the place. She snapped a few pictures of the flowers and the baroque lobes and fans of the cacti, and as Yang pulled away to inspect a tall, stooping Joshua Tree, Blake caught a photo of Yang’s face deep in thought. Yang turned at the sound of the shutter, and the photos that followed were Yang’s mock-outrage at being surreptitiously photographed, her wide, mischievous grin, and then a motion shot as she lunged to steal Blake’s scroll. After that there were pictures of Blake laughing and reaching for the scroll, a moment of earnest, wide-eyed disbelief (“You look beautiful, just let me take your picture.”) A soft smile, and then embarrassed hands over Blake’s face to cover a blush. 

As they returned once more to the courtyard, Yang paused. “Do you want to take a break? I brought lunch.” 

“You are so sneaky, when did you have time to pack lunch?” Blake sat on one of the stone benches that faced the fountain, dropping her bag next to her feet. Yang plopped down next to her, slinging the backpack onto her lap so that she could open it and reach inside.

“We can either go with the idea that I am a secret sandwich artist and whipped these up in my dorm kitchenette in fifteen minutes, or that I swung by the corner grocery near your work and grabbed some stuff on my way to pick you up. What you choose to believe is up to you.” Two packages wrapped in butcher paper emerged from the bag, followed by two bottles of green tea and two oranges. Yang offered one of the packages to Blake before unwrapping her own. “I got you the roasted veggie on whole wheat— I hope that’s okay?”

Blake accepted her lunch with enthusiasm. “That’s perfect, thank you so much. I do eat fish, but I don’t really eat meat…”

Nodding with satisfaction, Yang took a large bite of her own sandwich. So large, in fact, that it took her a minute to chew through it. She replied around the mouthful. “I thought so, just didn’t want to seem like an asshole for assuming.” Yang swallowed and continued. “People always assume that Pyrrha is a vegetarian, but she can mow through a 16 ounce ribeye faster than a school of piranhas on an unwary swimmer.”

“Ha, yuck.” Blake grimaced and took a bite. There was goat cheese and pesto in addition to the grilled red bell pepper, eggplant, and zucchini between the hearty slices of whole-grain bread. After swallowing thoroughly Blake looked over at Yang and grinned. “Gods, this is fantastic.”

In between bites of her lunch, Blake took more pictures of the garden, with candid shots of Yang when she could get them. The green of the foliage was such a gorgeous counterpoint to Yang’s golden hair and creamy, freckled skin. She looked like she belonged there, a boisterous dryad among the trees and flowers. 

Yang finished her sandwich, roast beef with sprouts and tomatoes on marbled rye, and crumpled her butcher paper wrapper into a ball. She gathered the various leavings of their meal and deposited them into a nearby garbage can, unobtrusive in a cement pillar shaped like a stone plinth. This done, Yang didn’t seem to be in a hurry to continue their expedition through the greenhouse. She lounged on the bench, stretching like a cat in a beam of sunlight.

The gentle laughter of the fountain was a pleasant background to the companionable silence that lay between the two women. Blake had fished her sketchbook and pencil case out of her bag after finishing her sandwich. She drew the fountain, the flowers, and the graceful branches against the glass and iron of the roof overhead. Her fingertips itched with potential— the whole place was packed from wall to wall with inspiration. Delicate petals and jewel-tone leaves begged to be sculpted from fabric, the ethereal made solid on a living form. The contrast of the glowing foliage and the deep shadow spoke of fascinating layers and divergent forms, tailored and draped to evoke organic lines.

Finally, Blake tucked her pencils away and stowed everything within her bag once more. She stood and glanced over at Yang, tilting her head in the direction of the final wing.

“Shall we?”

Entering the Menagerie annex, Blake was struck by a combination of humid warmth and the aroma of rich, decaying plant matter that was so familiar, so nostalgic, she was momentarily blinded. She stopped dead in her tracks, Yang yelping as she dodged to avoid running into Blake’s back. Her heart felt crushed within the snare of her ribs, the warring emotions of joy and intense longing tightening her throat; for a long moment breathing was painful and difficult. 

“Hey, what’s up? You froze for a second there.” Yang hovered on Blake’s periphery, confusion and concern on her face.

Blake bit her lip, taking in the riot of life that surrounded them. “I’m good. I just… need a minute.” She inhaled, breathing again the dark, earthy undertones of compost and growth. “It’s so much like home.”

It was, and it wasn’t. No birdsong or cries of howler monkeys broke the manufactured stillness of the rainforest garden. Trees that would normally tower seventy or eighty feet above their heads seemed almost stunted within the confines of the glass. It was dreamlike, a microcosm of the world where Blake had spent most of her life, removed from time and space.

Orchids emerged like frozen butterflies from the wide trunks and the intermittent fallen logs on the forest floor. A Bird of Paradise held its orange and purple blossoms like torches against the deep greens and browns of its surroundings. Burnished red anthurium emerged on graceful stems from between waxy emerald leaves. On all levels of the canopy, bromeliads spilled from branches and nooks in the tree trunks in spikes of white, yellow, magenta, and pale jade. Innocuous and deadly, the reds, oranges, and electric green tones of pitcher plants and other carnivorous foliage could be spotted throughout. In a still pond at the far end of the wing, tall lotuses held massive leaves and pink blooms on sturdy stalks. Sullen turtles could be spotted, peering out of the duckweed on the water’s edge. Blake took her time wandering through the strangely familiar environment, absorbing the bright jewel tones and the scattering of sunlight through the thick leaves overhead. 

Yang lingered close, seeming trapped between wanting to offer support and uncertainty about what support she could offer. Feeling guilty for bringing down the mood, Blake mentally scrambled for something to distract her companion. She grabbed her scroll from her pocket once more, turning on Yang with a small, determined smile. “Could you go stand next to that Bird of Paradise over there? I want to get some reference pictures.”

Looking relieved at the break in the tension, Yang obliged. “References for what? And how do you want me to stand? I’m not exactly an Instagram model.”

Blake chuckled, framing Yang and the colorful plant in the viewfinder. “Just be you. I think I have an idea for my portfolio project, I just need to see you next to some of these flowers.”

Awkwardly at first, and then with growing confidence, Yang allowed herself to be directed around the area. She sat with her back to a wide trunk, tumbles of monkey-face orchids surrounding her shoulders, gazed up into the vastness of the canopy, and even bent to smell the faint aroma of the wide red hibiscus blossoms, a slightly sardonic smile visible on the edge of her mouth. With each freeze frame captured, Blake became more and more animated in her excitement.

“Let’s go back into the other rooms, I want to see what else we can find.”

Blake’s enthusiasm was infectious. They danced their way down now-familiar paths, sometimes dashing ahead when one would spot another explosion of color, rife with possibility. It was silly and heady and delightful. They bounced off of each other as they moved, a momentary tangle of fingers, hand sliding along a hem, or a bump of shoulders reminding the two women of the physical bond that now stretched tentatively between them.

The sunflowers in the Vacuo wing mirrored the blossoms surrounding the golden dragon on Yang’s upper arm— Blake insisted on getting several shots of Yang without her jacket, the living flowers and the flowers on living skin blending together. It fascinated Blake, how the golden hues of Yang’s hair and the peachy tones of her skin looked so different depending on her surrounding environment. 

Yang had to pause to put her jacket into the brown canvas backpack. Blake found herself gazing happily at the other woman, the warm glow back in her chest with a vengeance. Catching Blake’s golden gaze, Yang flushed, a goofy smile lighting up her face. “What is it?”

“I bet you’ve been showered with flowers from previous admirers. You look good with them.”

The snort this startled from Yang was self-deprecatory and decidedly unladylike. “Yeah right. I’m usually the one giving the flowers, I’ll have you know.” Violet eyes met gold with a frank gaze. “You know, I’ve never actually gotten flowers before? I mean, I think my dad brought me carnations when I was a tree in a school play in third grade, but I’m pretty sure that doesn’t count.”

Trailing her fingers down one freckled shoulder, Blake hummed contemplatively. “No, that doesn’t count.” She clasped Yang’s hand in hers, bringing scarred knuckles to her lips for a sweet, chaste kiss. “Babe, I’m going to give you all the flowers.”

This was met with a crooked grin, but also a look of heat and longing. “Promises, promises.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR’S NOTES:  
> -This is the chapter I’ve been looking forward to since I came up with the initial rough outline of this fic. It was so, so much fun to write.  
> -Can I offer you some Seamonkeys crumbs in this trying time?  
> -Believe it or not, I actually wrote this flannel before Roosterteeth released their gorgeous line of RWBY casual wear that features an almost identical shirt. (See here, I think it’s sold out now though). Of course, @spoopsboops had to have one, and it’s her favorite flannel now.  
> -Again, daydream along with me that we all live in this magnificent house.  
> -We will make it through our sad chameleon girl angst together. I promise there’s a fic at the end of the tunnel.  
> -Not a play-by-play of the previous chapter, but I really wanted to have a chance to write Blake’s insight on the morning after.  
> -I just can’t get enough of writing these two kissing.  
> -Oh, hi Flynt. Good to see ya.  
> -Obvious Studio Ghibli references aside, I hope you all feel as transported as I do to this magical place. Inspiration for the garden comes from the Anacostia Water Gardens in Washington D.C., the Leach Botanical Garden in Portland, OR, and the Crystal Springs Rhododendron Garden in Portland, OR. I have also always been enchanted by the massive, ornate greenhouses built in the Victorian era.  
> -Thank you for indulging my overly-poetic prose for several thousand words here.  
> -You can get homesick even if you left home for a very good reason.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recommended Listening:  
> -“CVS”, Winnetka Bowling League  
> -“Say It”, girl in red

Listen to the Spotify playlist (curated by the author’s wife, @spoopsboops) [HERE](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0NAkxw0y9KBjkbqX3Yum36?si=Ai7gHVZeQy6fn-kR28ZErg).

Follow on Tumblr and Instagram @probably_momo, for art and writing updates.

______________________________________________________________

Yang dropped Blake off at her house as the sun was dipping low towards the western sky. They shared a long kiss, full of soft heat and remembered passion from their first— fuck, was that only last night? She marveled at the comfortable way they fit together, her hands sliding down to span the other woman’s narrow waist and Blake’s knee casually slotting itself between hers, as though any distance between them was wasted space.

They finally broke apart, Blake chuckling breathily as she pushed her bangs out of her eyes. “The neighbors will talk.”

“Ah, fuck ‘em.” Yang grinned wolfishly and ducked in to reclaim Blake’s mouth for another tangle of breath, teeth and tongues. 

Blake pulled back slightly, then drifted in for one last sweet kiss before she disentangled herself from the other woman’s limbs and stepped fully onto the sidewalk. “Thank you for today. I’ll text you.”

There was a twinge in Yang’s chest, a feeling that some sort of magic spell was about to break and everything would go back to the way it was the second either of them turned away. She managed a lopsided grin back at Blake, leaning casually against the saddle of her bike. “Glad you had fun.” Then, a leap into the abyss. “Let’s do this again sometime?”

“I’d really like that.” Blake dragged her lower lip between her teeth, gaze dancing across Yang’s face. “Uhm, I’ll be in touch about the portfolio? I’ll probably have some mockups next week or the week after. Then we can talk about meeting for fittings.”

Oh yeah, Blake’s portfolio. She’d only slightly forgotten about that. They would see each other again, even if Blake had second thoughts after the intoxication of desire wore off. This wouldn’t be the last time they stood together, tension stretched tight between them. Emboldened by this thought, Yang smashed through the barrier of the enchantment, swinging onto her bike and sliding her helmet over her head.

“Sounds great! See you soon!”

The sweet smile that Blake gave her was almost blinding. “See you soon, Yang. Have a nice night.”

_____________________________________

She didn’t hear anything for the rest of Sunday, which she spent doing laundry in the shared laundry room, half-heartedly tidying her dorm, and trying to concentrate on finishing her second play through of the Final Fantasy remake. Around 10pm, when Yang was starting to think about saving her game and trying to go to sleep, her scroll buzzed on the futon next to her. She scrambled for it, reading the message several times before her frazzled brain made sense of the words.

**:Blake: How do you feel about mesh fabrics? Silk mesh, not polyester.**

Yang hadn’t been aware that there was more than one kind of mesh. Her mind fixated back on the black mesh shirt she had borrowed from Ren in high school and had _accidentally_ forgotten to give back. That was probably not what Blake had in mind.

**:Yang: never worn it but its probably fine :)**

It was a strange text message, but it was a text message all the same. Yang let that sliver of hope warm her as she curled up in bed. If she dozed off with her hand wrapped around her scroll, hoping for the tell-tale vibration of another text arriving, no one needed to know.

______________________________________

On Monday morning, halfway through her jog around the campus commons with Pyrrha, it occurred to Yang that she didn’t have to wait for Blake to text her. She could also text Blake. She felt a little stupid that it hadn’t occurred to her before— Blake wouldn’t think she was being too clingy or overeager if Yang reached out on her own. Probably. Hopefully. 

Pyrrha got a gentle dig in about how quiet Yang was that morning as they slowed to a cool-down walk on the approach to Yang’s dorm building. She tapped the side of her neck with a finger, giving Yang a sly look. “You must’ve had a really good weekend, huh?”

Yang’s hand fluttered up to cover the smattering of fading bruises on her neck. She shoved her friend with a none-too-gentle elbow, but grinned back regardless. “Yeah, I guess it was okay.”

“Mmmhmm…. Want to talk about it?”

“...Not yet? I dunno, it probably sounds weird. I just don’t want to jinx it, y’know?”

The look the redhead gave her was equal parts understanding and sympathetic. She didn’t push the topic any further, instead switching gears to discuss the upcoming tests she would have to oversee in the welding lab. 

Gratitude and affection for her friend warmed Yang to her toes. Nora or Ruby might have continued to pester her, seeing her reluctance as a challenge to their determination. Even Jaune would have held onto the topic, returning to it again and again, out of excitement for Yang’s potential love interest. With Pyrrha she felt safe knowing that she could talk about it when she felt the time was right, and there was no expectation weighing her down or dragging the words from her. 

They stretched and then parted ways. Pyrrha gave Yang a particularly long and tight hug, which she accepted with gratitude even as her ribs groaned and clicked in protest. Yang was grateful never to have screwed up so badly that she lost her best friend’s support and affection.

Yang waited until after she had taken a shower and chugged half a bottle of water plus a mug of microwaved leftover coffee before sitting down to text Blake. She gazed at the blank screen of her scroll for a long moment, her unhelpful brain providing nothing more interesting to start the conversation with than ‘what’s up?’ She finally gave up on trying to find something wittier, and typed it quickly and sent it before she could change her mind.

**:Yang: hey whats up?**

There was a pause, then the tantalizing empty speech bubble that indicated Blake writing a response appeared. Yang put her scroll down and pretended to be interested in the happenings outside of her window. After an impossibly long minute, the scroll hummed again.

**:Blake: On my break at work. Your sister is here, drinking a truly inadvisable number of shots of espresso. She said she has a test later today and needs the caffeine to help her concentrate.**

**:Blake: What are you up to?**

Yang chuckled at the thought of Ruby’s go-to emergency coffee order, so strong it could probably reanimate the dead and so sweet it would make a normal person wish they were dead. 

**:Yang: i’ll text her later when she’s crashing and remind her she did it to herself**

**:Yang: just ran with pyrrha gonna work on some drafting homework and eat canned spaghetti for lunch**

**:Blake: Oh yuck. Not Pyrrha obviously, just judging your taste in lunch foods.**

**:Yang: canned spaghetti with meatballs**

**:Blake: No. Stop. Why.**

**:Yang: lol**

She dropped her scroll on the futon, standing with a groan. Her heart felt lighter than it had in a long time. As she microwaved her (severely judged) canned pasta and settled down in front of her monitor to work, she couldn’t help the smile that stretched across her face.

Maybe everything would be okay this time.

______________________________________

It was past 11pm when she received another text from Blake. Yang rubbed her eyes, trying to clear her sleep-blurred vision so that she could read the message.

**:Blake: I can’t stop thinking about how you look when you move beneath me.**

Holy shit. 

Yang’s brain froze. She read and re-read the message, wondering if she had misunderstood. 

Nope, she definitely hadn’t misunderstood.

But how should she respond?

She switched on the lamp next to her bed, trying to gather her scattered thoughts.

**:Yang: well hello to u 2 ;)**

**:Yang: what r u up to?**

**:Yang: other than fantasizing about me obvs**

As she waited for a response, Yang got up and grabbed a glass of water. She wasn’t going to be falling back to sleep anytime soon.

**:Blake: Working late at the studio. The janitor is probably going to kick me out soon anyway. He doesn’t like it when people interrupt his slow-jams of the 90s karaoke. :)**

**:Yang: omg lol**

**:Yang: im thinking about u 2**

**:Blake: Really? Do tell.**

**:Blake: I hope I didn’t wake you up, it just gets kinda lonely when I’m working by myself. It’s quiet in the building with no one here, like I’m the only person in the world.**

**:Yang: u bet im awake now**

**:Yang: and now im mostly thinkin about ur hands and ur mouth and what u do with them ;)**

**:Yang: but u think about boning while ur sewing?**

**:Blake: Not sewing right now, drafting patterns.**

**:Yang: what?**

**:Blake: Trying to get fabric to do what I want on a mannequin. A mannequin with your proportions. You see where I’m going with this.**

**:Yang: a headless armless dummy got u all hot n bothered for me?**

**:Blake: If you continue down that line of thought I will severely reconsider texting you the next time I’m horny and lonely.**

**:Yang: ill behave**

**:Blake: I highly doubt it, but I’d like to see you try.**

**:Yang: mmm, i like it when you get all bossy like ur in charge**

**:Blake: I am in charge, Yang Xiao Long. And don’t you forget it.**

Yang buried her face in her pillow to muffle her giggles. She could imagine Blake, illuminated by her desk lamp with the black windows behind her. Maybe she sat on the stool Yang had seen tucked under the tall work table. Maybe she bit her full lower lip and smiled as she typed on her scroll.

**:Yang: when can i see u again?**

It was soon. Too soon, maybe, and it was a risk. But as Yang waited through the breathless moments as Blake responded, she knew she wouldn’t take it back even if she could.

 **:Blake:** **Day after tomorrow? I’m working and in class all day tomorrow.**

**:Blake: Then I can show you what I’m making for you to wear.**

**:Yang: that would be great what time?**

**:Blake: Come by the coffee shop at 2:30.**

**:Yang: awesome**

**:Blake: Sleep well Yang. :)**

**:Yang: u 2**

**:Yang: and try to get the janitor on video for me, i wanna see his mad skilz**

______________________________________

At 2:28pm on Wednesday, Yang pushed open the front door of Feelin’ Perky and apprehensively stepped inside. She caught sight of Blake at the end of the bar by the big espresso machines, having an animated conversation with the white-blonde girl from trivia. Weiss? That sounded right. She hadn’t realized they knew each other.

Blake looked up when the door closed with a cheerful jingle of bells. Catching sight of Yang, Blake enthusiastically waved her over. The clear pleasure she took at Yang’s arrival overwhelmed Yang’s growing anxiety that maybe she was early, maybe she had asked to meet again too soon, maybe she shouldn’t have come at all.

“Yang, you know Weiss, right?” Blake beamed at her, but there were dark circles under her eyes. Her hair was pulled back in a clip, like Blake hadn’t wanted to spend any time on it. 

The well-dressed blonde smiled tentatively at Yang. “Well, I don’t think we’ve ever been properly introduced. I’m Weiss Schnee, it’s lovely to finally meet you.”

Yang shook the offered hand, feeling very coarse and unkempt in comparison to Weiss’ designer elegance. But there were calluses on her hand, and a confident strength in her grip that hinted at unknown depths. “Yang Xiao Long. It’s really nice to meet you too.”

“Xiao Long, like the auto mechanic on Front Street?” 

Guardedly, Yang nodded. “That’s my dad’s place.”

“Oh my gosh, I love the cute puppy logo! If I had a car I wouldn’t take it anywhere else!” The untouchable facade shattered and Weiss was positively glowing with delight.

Yang laughed. “It’s funny that you recognize me by my last name, when you’ve got one of the most recognizable last names on Sanus.” This comment seemed to make the other woman uncomfortable, so Yang quickly changed gears. “The logo is designed after our— my dad’s dog Zwei. He’s at the shop most days, though he’s a lot older and fatter than he was when the logo was designed. If you’re ever in the area you could just stop by and say hi, no car needed.” 

The idea of being able to go and see a cute dog at any time seemed to completely overcome Weiss. Her momentary disquiet forgotten, she clapped her hands to her cheeks as if trying to contain the grin and the flush that happiness brought to her pale face.

Blake was leaning on the counter, watching the interaction with a gentle smile. “See, she’s not as scary as you thought.”

Weiss scoffed, her icy, regal persona snapping back in place in the blink of an eye. “I never said she was scary! Just… intimidating.” Her impassive expression faded and she gave Yang a bashful half-smile, shrugging her shoulders. “I’m not very good at first impressions. It’s gotten to the point where I just avoid them altogether.”

Yang stuffed her hands into her pockets. “I thought you were pretty intimidating too, to be honest. You’re just so put together all the time.”

The other woman looked away momentarily, a flash of the same discomfort that she had displayed at the mention of her family name showing in the way her brows creased and she bit her lip. “I’ve had a lot of practice.”

A large iced coffee slid across the counter towards Yang, breaking the tension. She looked between the drink and Blake in confusion. “Don’t look so surprised, I remember what 95% of customers get as their usual drink. Not that a large cold brew is all that hard to remember.” The brunette deferred. She looked pleased, but also a bit embarrassed. 

“I’m just impressed. Thanks.”

Blake waved a hand at Yang, as though it were such a little gesture it wasn’t even worth notice. She scooped up an abandoned bar towel off the top of one of the espresso machines with a businesslike air. “I’ve got some cleaning to do before my shift is over. If I leave you two alone you won’t just stand here awkwardly not looking at each other, right?” Blake winked at Yang before heading through the swinging door to the back of the shop. 

Yang invited Weiss to sit down at a nearby table with her to wait until the end of Blake’s shift. The blonde agreed, “...But I really have to go in fifteen or so minutes. I, er, have a class I really can’t afford to miss.” Yang could tell she was not being exactly truthful, but she didn’t know the other woman well enough to feel comfortable teasing the truth out of her.

They talked intermittently. Yang learned that Weiss knew Blake solely from the coffee shop— Weiss was a web design major, and their paths would not have crossed at the university. Yang was intrigued. “Do you know Ruby? She’s my sister, a bit taller than you and really loud. She was in the trivia competition too— the Chaos Muppets.” The name made them both chuckle. “She’s doing computer stuff at BAPT too.”

Weiss admitted that she had taken classes with Ruby, but she didn’t know her very well. “She’s a bit hard to miss.” Weiss intoned, delicately.

“No kidding. She’s the human embodiment of a New Year’s fireworks display, all of the fanfare included.”

“Well yes, that. But she’s also… singular.” Weiss took a long sip of her latte, seeming caught in a thought. Then she glanced back at Yang, smiled brightly, and changed the subject.

Apparently, Blake and Weiss had started talking over a mutual love of fashion. Blake recognized and complimented a vintage designer sport coat that Weiss had worn one day. Weiss often loaned Blake her _Atlas Style_ and _Huntress_ magazines. 

Weiss was delighted to learn that Yang was going to be modeling for Blake, and she proceeded to ask a lot of technical questions about the process that made Yang feel quite a bit out of her depth. Finally all Yang could do was shrug. “I don’t know, honestly. Last time I was at the studio she measured me, and I think today she’s going to show me what she’s been working on.”

Weiss sighed, her chin resting on her hand and a dreamy expression on her face. “I know I’ll see them at the runway show, but I’d love to see what she’s making…”

“Have you asked her to send you pictures? I don’t think she’d mind.”

“I, uh. I don’t have her number. She doesn’t have mine.”

Yang blinked at the other woman. “Sooooooo, give her your number?”

“I don’t want to seem like I’m being forceful.”

“Fuck, Weiss. It’s not like you’re asking her to marry you— You’re friends. You loan her your clothes magazines and everything. Here—“ Yang pulled a napkin out of the dispenser on the table, then slapped her pockets before realizing she didn’t have her work belt on. No handy marking implements. “Do you have a pen?”

Mutely, Weiss dug around in her blue leather purse. She extracted a surprisingly ordinary ballpoint pen. Yang had almost expected her to pull out a fountain pen.

“Write your number down here.” Weiss did as instructed, though her pen tore at the flimsy napkin. “Good. Now I’ll give this to Blake and tell her you’d like to see pictures of her work.”

Weiss bit her lip, still looking torn. “You’re sure she won’t think it’s weird?”

That made Yang laugh out loud. “Weird? Gods, Weiss— don’t worry, I’m not laughing at you— but you have _met_ Blake, right? The first time she ever really talked to me was to critique my choice of workout clothes. Weird is definitely not something you need to worry about.” She leaned forward, her tone conspiratorial. “She dissed the Xiao Long Auto logo.”

Aghast, Weiss gaped at her tablemate. “What?! No way!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I heard you say my name! Weiss, is she talking shit about me?” Blake called from the far side of the counter, where she was industriously mopping.

“I’m saying wonderful things about you!”

Weiss was unable to control a giggle at the bantering. “Thanks Yang. It’s really, really nice to get to talk to you.” She smiled, hope peeking through a veil of embarrassment. “It would be nice to be your friend.”

Yang opened her scroll, quickly keying in a message to Weiss’ number and sending it off. Something in Weiss’ bag made a small metallic noise, like a sword being drawn. Weiss pulled her own scroll from the bag and silenced her text tone.

**:Yang: yo**

**:Yang: we’re friends now ur stuck with me**

Weiss grinned, then did a double-take at the time on the screen. “Oh gods! I’m going to be late!” She snatched her latte off the table and slung her bag over her shoulder. “Thanks again Yang! Bye Blake!” And she was out the door at a jog.

“How does she run in those heels without breaking her ankle?”

“It’s actually easier than you’d think.” Yang jumped— she hadn’t heard Blake come up next to her. 

“Holy crap you’re quiet! You’re like a ninja or something!” Yang grinned at the other woman. 

Blake had her denim hoodie jacket on, and, not for the first time, Yang admired how well it fit the slender brunette. It struck her that the fit might not be an accident. “Hey, did you make that coat yourself?”

“No,” Blake ran an affectionate hand down the decorative buttons that disguised the front zipper. “But I did tailor it so that it fit me better. It was in the men’s section.”

“That’s so cool!”

“You’re one to talk! You could take a car apart and put it back together again!”

“...Let’s just agree that we both have things we’re good at and they are equally impressive to someone that has no experience with them.” Yang stood and nodded towards the door. To her surprise and delight, Blake twined an arm through her elbow with easy comfort. “I could teach you some stuff though, if you want?”

“Mmmm.” Blake looked at Yang out of the corner of her eye. Something familiar and intimate hung in that expression. “I’d love to have you teach me some stuff.”

______________________________________________________________

Blake had caught a ride to the coffee shop with Neptune that morning, and so Yang once again had the pleasure of having the trim woman ride pillion with her. She could get used to that, the easy way Blake slid up behind her and clasped her hands low on Yang’s belly. The tips of Blake’s fingers found their way under her jacket hem, intimate and warm.

As if reading her mind, Blake leaned forward and murmured in her ear, “I really like riding with you. It’s like… We have the whole world in front of us. You know?”

Yang did know, had always felt the draw of freedom granted by her tires on the asphalt. The fact that Blake acknowledged it too made her heart do a flip flop. She squeezed Blake’s hands in lieu of an answer, and headed off towards Beacon campus.

She knew where the Autumn Hall was located from her previous meeting with Blake for her fitting, and had ridden past the sweeping edifice regularly on her way to downtown Vale or out to where the edge of town bled into the Emerald Forest. It had interested her in an abstract way, as any building with unique architecture might. And when she had been inside before it was a weekend, the halls echoing with unnatural emptiness.

It was now early afternoon on a Wednesday, and as they came through the chrome and glass doors Yang was greeted by a symphony of unfamiliar noises, both human and mechanical in origin. The smell of the place was different too, paint and wet clay and an underlying hot, earthy aroma she couldn’t place. 

“Oh, they have the kiln firing today.” Blake wrinkled her nose slightly. “Well, we won’t be able to smell it up on the third floor at least. Let’s go.” She caught and squeezed Yang’s hand momentarily before releasing it and leading the way up the spiraling staircase. 

Yang trailed behind a bit, fascinated by the colorful, enthusiastic people who found a home in the Fine Arts department. She didn’t find the smell of the kiln, now identified, as unpleasant as Blake seemed to. It was almost like the cordite smell of the welding lab. 

When she got to the third floor, Blake had already disappeared into the studio. As she reached for the handle it turned under her grip, and she found herself quite suddenly face to face with Coco Adel.

The last time Yang had seen Coco was at a particularly distant and unpleasant dinner date. Coco had given her one long look, tucked their purse under their arm, and said, “This isn’t working out” before they stood and swept out of the restaurant. That was two years ago, and Yang had never really gotten an explanation for the abrupt end to their very brief entanglement. 

But maybe she didn’t need one— it was obvious that they both had been looking to lose themselves in someone else, and not for anything more. Soon after, Yang had heard that Coco was dating another girl from the Fine Arts department, someone they had known since high school. Maybe it was the tall woman with the large dark eyes who stood behind Coco, a confused expression on her face.

“Yang. You look well.” Coco tilted their head to one side, surveying Yang neutrally. 

“Hi Coco. You look good too.” They did— they wore close-fitting slacks in a light coffee color, complemented by the thin patterned tie at the collar of their dark grey button down shirt. Yang cleared her throat, standing back to allow the two through the doorway.

“Thanks. Well, nice seeing you.” Yang’s suspicions about Coco’s companion were confirmed as Coco caught her hand and led her through the door.

“Uhm, thank you!” The slender woman called over one shoulder as she followed her beau down the hallway.

Yang stood for a second, not watching them go but staring into the middle distance, unconscious of the fact that she still held the door open. She had been a very different person when she first started at Beacon. She was still angry, still feeling broken beyond repair after the accident even though her body was mostly healed. But there were things that had carried through to the present. Yang wasn’t proud of them, but she could recognize them all the same. She still tried to lose herself in other people.

That wasn’t what she was doing with Blake, was it? No, it couldn’t be. She didn’t feel muffled or numb to herself when she was around Blake— quite the opposite. Blake made her feel solid, present, like the clear recognition in those liquid gold eyes pinned her to reality. She felt safe.

As Yang entered the fashion design studio, her gaze was drawn to the desk against the far window where Blake was shuffling through fabric samples spread on her worktop. As if she could feel the eyes on her, Blake glanced up and smiled, motioning Yang over.

Again, Yang noticed how tired the other woman looked. There was an almost frenetic quality to her movements, a lack of the usual grace and purpose that Blake put into everything she did. As Yang approached, she could hear Blake muttering under her breath.

“...Where did I put the orange satin? Oh there it is— no that’s not the right one…”

“Anything I can help with?” Yang looked over the smaller woman’s shoulder into the bright pile of scraps in front of her. 

Blake sighed, plopping down on the tall stool and giving Yang an apologetic smile. “I thought I had all of this organized so I could go through it with you when you got here. But I was here so late last night that I can hardly remember what I did before I left.” She half heartedly lifted one corner of the sketchbook that was sprawled open on the desk, peering under it in case her missing fabric scraps had wound up there. “You talked to Coco a bit at the door— do you know them?”

Yang almost shook her head, but stopped herself. She didn’t want to lie to Blake, especially not about something so long-distant as whatever she had with Coco. “We kind of dated. Two years ago, I think. They broke it off.” Yang laughed, but it sounded false, robotic to her ears. “They’re still the only person who ever broke up with me. Usually, I’m the one who…” She stopped abruptly. Maybe it was over sharing, maybe Blake would see it as the warning sign that it was, the brilliant poison dart frog coloration that was Yang Xiao Long’s personality. Danger, it said. Not for human consumption.

Blake considered her, chin on her fist and elbow on her desk. “That must have been right before they started seeing Velvet.” Yang nodded, mutely. Blake’s chuckle startled her. “Well, I think you hold the distinction of being the person who got them to come to their senses about something that the rest of the world knew for a long time. Take that however you will, but I think that’s something to be glad about.”

Not for the first time, Yang found herself thrown completely sideways and speechless by the way that Blake saw the world. It was that sincerity, that insightful wonder, that had drawn her to take Blake to the arboretum. She had never taken anyone else there, not even Ruby, preferring to keep it as a personal haven. Somehow, though, she had known that Blake would appreciate it the same way that she did— maybe even more, viewing it not only for its aesthetic value, but in the way that only an artist can admire the form and function of something truly well-crafted.

A small, triumphant noise from Blake caught Yang’s attention. The brunette dove across her work table to grab a bundle of fabric, tied together with a ribbon, from where it was half-hidden by a stack of books. She stood, leafing through her sketchbook to a specific page, and started to lay the scraps down with their coordinated drawings. Satisfied with her efforts, she looked up at Yang to gauge her reactions.

Looking closer, Yang could see stylized illustrations of a woman with broad shoulders and a tapering waist, wavy blonde hair pinned up out of the way. The drawings were of her— of course they were, she was Blake’s model. One featured long, wide slacks and a loose blouse, accompanied by a fitted vest that brought the blouse in close to her form. The vest was patterned with a stylized sunflower that burst forth from the lapels like embroidered rays, set against the leafy green of the blouse which draped off of the model’s shoulders showing a tantalizing glimpse of skin. 

The next was a knee-length dress with a slim-fit skirt, the top structured in a way that would stand off of her shoulders and chest in petal-like forms. The bright orange and purple, and the abstract shape of the top, reminded Yang of the Birds of Paradise flowers they had seen at the garden. The orange satin that Blake had been looking for went with this illustration, along with a selection of tiny glass beads that Yang assumed would be somehow stitched into the design.

The last one that looked finished was a floor-length dress with obvious inspiration from traditional Menagerie styles. The skirt of the dress looked like it was wrapped at the waist, but had a quality to it that almost looked like petals. A long length of fabric was draped over the left shoulder, leaving the right one free. The long fabric looked light weight, and probably coincided with the soft almost-transparent yellow fabric sample that was laid next to it. Yang’s tattoo sleeve was also depicted in this drawing, a focal point to the outfit. It was echoed by what looked like embroidery on the edge of the fabric length and along the edge of the skirt.

“Wow.”

Blake grinned. “Wait until you see what I have planned for Neptune. He’s going to throw a fit.”

Yang ran her fingers over the drawings, caressing the bits of fabric associated with them. They were beautiful. In Blake’s drawings, _she_ was beautiful. Not just an anonymous person wearing fancy clothes, but, despite the stylization, very clearly Yang. Elegant, confident, and powerful.

“He’d better not be a dick about it. I’ll deck him. These are amazing Blake— you’re amazing.” She looked at the other woman, real awe in her voice.

With a tired laugh, Blake surveyed her work. “It will be amazing if I manage to pull it off in two months. I can’t believe how much hand-sewing I have planned for these. I could simplify it, I suppose…” She shook her head. “Only if I have to. I really want these to look the way I see them in my head.”

“I can’t even imagine how much work goes into something like this… Gods, it’s so intricate.”

Blake shuffled through the samples again, coming up with a piece that glittered with beads and golden threads. “I think this is what I’m going with for the orchid dress.” She indicated the last gown, with its decorated edging. “This sample took me like three hours, but it’ll get faster once I’m in the swing of it. My fingers are going to be so beat up after this though.”

On an instinct, Yang reached out and caught Blake’s right hand. She inspected the fingertips in question, recognizing the calluses that were already starting to become familiar. But they were joined by nicks, small blisters, and cracks in the skin. Again without thinking, she brought those hardworking fingers to her lips and kissed them softly.

“Oh.” Blake was gazing at her, eyes glassy and amazed. She swayed a bit on the stool, Yang quickly steadying her.

“You need to get some sleep. You were up how late last night? And then worked an opening shift at the coffee shop?”

Blake leaned heavily against the supporting hand, a dreamy smile on her pallid face. “Are you scolding me?”

With a scoff, Yang began to gently tug Blake to her feet. “If you work yourself to death I’ll scold your ghost. C’mon, anything you could do today can wait ‘til tomorrow.”

Their departure was hindered slightly by Blake’s increasing fatigue. Yang briefly considered calling a cab, worried that Blake wouldn’t have the presence of mind to stay on the back of her bike, but when they stepped out into the cooler air the other woman perked up a little bit. At least enough that she didn’t look like she was going to fall asleep where she stood.

“Do you need to go back to your place? My dorm is closer.”

“Are you taking me home with you? Scandalous.”

Yang couldn’t help but chuckle. “My dorm it is. Let’s go, sleeping beauty.”

______________________________________________________________

ART CORNER:

-[Amazing art done by @hulderhearth](https://hulderhearth.tumblr.com/post/638644585465249792/these-illustrations-were-commissioned-by) (a commissioned Christmas present from spoops, I cried when I saw it)

-[Neptune croquis](https://probably-momo.tumblr.com/post/639330722978660352/fashion-croquis-of-neptune-for-my-fic-faults)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR’S NOTES:  
> -Thanks for sticking with me through my mini-hiatus folks. I took on a bunch of projects around Christmas that I really needed to get done. Also, spending time with spoops was kinda important.  
> -Ren was the scenest of scene kids in high school— a fact that he would rather forget and Nora takes any opportunity to remind him. She buys him a Cute is What We Aim For shirt every year for his birthday. He wears them as pajamas.  
> -Yang Xiao Long and her relationship baggage  
> -Shut up Blake, canned spaghetti is delicious.  
> -MOAR WEISS. Also, secret nerd Weiss.  
> -I stan non-binary Coco Adel in this fic. Crosshares is *chefskiss*  
> -Croquis are the stylized illustrations used for fashion design, see above for some that I designed.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yang learns little bit more about Blake’s past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: This chapter contains a detailed description of night terrors and a panic attack. Also references to past abuse. If that’s not your cup of tea you can read to the break and skip the rest of the chapter. I will summarize the important stuff in the Author’s Notes at the end of the chapter.
> 
> Love you all. Thank you for your continued readership.
> 
> RECOMMENDED LISTENING:  
> -“Wake Me”, Bleachers  
> -“Off She Goes”, Bad Suns

Listen to the Spotify playlist (curated by the author’s wife, @spoopsboops) [HERE](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0NAkxw0y9KBjkbqX3Yum36?si=F0JnjDVrSoG3dLea7EAGbQ).

Follow on Tumblr and Instagram @probably_momo, for art and writing updates.

______________________________________________________________

Blake let herself be led out of the studio, down the stairs, and out of the Autumn Hall. The fatigue that had been ignored in favor of creative output and early morning shifts was settling in around her, making the world seem very distant, almost echoey. Yang’s hand in hers was warm, burning hot even, and she clung to it like an anchor chain that kept her from drifting off with the tide.

Yang was saying something, but her voice sounded muffled. “...You ride with me? Or should I call you a cab?”

Oh, that was important. Blake shook her head to clear it, then grinned ruefully at the other woman. “Sorry, I zoned out for a second there. Your dorm’s not far, right? I promise I won’t fall off the back of your motorcycle.”

“Mmhmm.” Yang didn’t sound very convinced, but after she scanned Blake’s face for a second she nodded. “Okay, you can ride with me. Just hold on tight— it would be mortifying if I lost another girl off the back of my bike…”

“Another?” Blake trotted to catch up as Yang turned and started to stride off towards the parking lot. “Wait, how many people have fallen off of your motorcycle? Yang? Yang!” The poorly concealed chuckle and the flash of a teasing grin made Blake pout. “Not fair, making fun of someone who has only had six hours of sleep in the last two days.”

“Like shooting fish in a barrel. With a shotgun.” Yang’s words were sarcastic, but her smile was kind. “Here, helmet up. The sooner we get back to my place the sooner you can pass out in peace.” 

Blake clipped the chinstrap in place, sliding into her spot— her spot? When had it become her spot?— behind Yang on the bike. Her arms found their place around Yang’s waist, and she snuggled up close to that warm form. And it was only right that she should rest her cheek on Yang’s back. And it followed that she breathed in deep the spicy-herbal smell of Yang’s hair, where locks of it fought their way free of her collar to spill rebelliously over her shoulders.

It was only a short ride to Yang’s dorm— a leisurely tour around the commons to the Amber and Jade buildings between the Spring and Summer halls. Yang lived in the Amber building. It was a refurbished apartment complex that was going on one hundred years old, red brick covered in climbing ivy, stone stairs leading up from the sidewalk to the entrance. There was a row of brass mailboxes in the lobby, and a rickety looking elevator with an accordion gate door. 

“Never, ever, take the elevator.” Yang said in an undertone as they walked past. Blake was inclined to agree from looks alone.

The stairs were narrow and the risers uneven, leading to a few caught toes and grumbled profanities as Blake concentrated on not falling on her face before they made it to Yang’s dorm. Pure, stubborn willpower got her to the third floor and down the hall to Yang’s door. She let herself lean heavily against the doorframe as Yang wrestled her keys out of her pocket, watching the blonde with heavy eyes and a thorough sense of comfort and ease.

She had never been here before, but she was with Yang and she felt safe. The room, when they got inside, was so supremely infused with Yang’s personality that it was like stepping into a home she never knew existed. It smelled like Yang. There were pictures of motorcycles, martial arts movie posters, a punching bag and a pile of weights by the bed, a cork board over her desk covered in dozens of photographs and postcards. The afternoon sun spilled through the windows of the corner room, tinting everything with a honey-gold the color of Yang’s hair. 

Blake sat on the squeaky futon in the corner while Yang bustled around the tiny kitchenette, scolding her good-naturedly for not taking care of herself properly. “You’ve barely slept and who knows what you’ve eaten in the last two days. Not that I’m not impressed at your dedication, I totally am, but gods, you look like death warmed over.”

Blake beamed through the tirade, the steady note of care underlying all of Yang’s words warming her to the core. “Thanks, babe. You always say the nicest things.”

A small flush rose in Yang’s cheeks at the pet name, but she didn’t stop her affectionate haranguing. “Don’t think you can buy me off by sweet talking me. I’m no soft touch.” Counter to her words she had assembled a couple of sandwiches on a plate, along with a glass of orange juice, which she brought over and set on the end table next to Blake’s elbow. She nabbed one of the sandwiches and plopped down on the futon next to Blake, taking a large bite.

The sandwich was peanut butter and jelly on white bread, and it reminded Blake of something her mom might have packed for her lunch when she was a kid. The crusts would have been removed, the sandwich cut into symmetrical rectangles instead of the diagonal cut that Yang favored. A colorful paper cup of cherry tomatoes and sliced carrots on the side, the layer below it sliced fresh mangos or papaya…

“Whoa, shit, what’s up? Don’t you like PB&J?” 

She hadn’t been aware of the tears welling up until they overflowed. Blake wiped at them hurriedly with her wrist and bit into the sandwich as though to prove to Yang that there was nothing wrong with the food she had made. “No, it’s great.” There was peanut butter on the roof of her mouth and she had to take a moment to unstick it before she could continue. “It’s great, I love peanut butter. It’s just… really, really nice of you.”

Yang wrapped a tentative arm around her shoulders, pulling close Blake to her side. “You made me a freaking omelette when I stayed over at your place, this is the least I could do. Or, well, the most I could do, since I haven’t gone grocery shopping in a few days.” She held Blake for a bit, resting her cheek on the crown of Blake’s head as the brunette finished her lunch. “I’ve never made someone cry with a PB&J before. Check that off of my bucket list, I guess.”

“Ha ha. I’m sorry, being so tired just makes me emotional, I think.”

“Hey, no worries. You should see me when I don’t eat regularly— hangry doesn’t even begin to cover it.” They shared another moment on the futon, Yang’s arm wrapped protectively around Blake’s shoulders, Blake sipping at the glass of juice. Then Yang stood and picked up the now-vacant sandwich plate. “Why don’t you go take a shower? That always helps me relax. If my shower wasn’t so small I’d join you, if only to make sure you don’t fall asleep in there.” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Blake grinned up at Yang, tears still wet on her face but melancholy forgotten. “Don’t worry, you can scrub my back the next time you stay over at my place.” There was no question of whether there would be a next time, and there was a reassuring comfort to saying the words out loud. If she was less tired, maybe Blake would have wondered about that easy familiarity, but for now she just enjoyed it. 

When she pushed herself to standing gravity fought her all the way. Yang indicated where she could find a clean towel and washcloth, then left her to her own devices. The bathroom was quite small, and the shower so cramped that Blake was glad she wasn’t claustrophobic. But the water pressure was strong and the water was hot. Blake leaned against the tile, inhaling the steam and letting it wash over and around her. It washed her mind into a peaceful void, until there was nothing but the sound of the water, the feeling of her breath entering and leaving her lungs, and her heart beating.

She might have actually fallen asleep (not that she would admit it), because the next thing she knew there was a soft knock on the bathroom door. “You okay in there?”

“Mmmyeah. Thanks.”

“I’m just going to open the door a crack and put some clean clothes on the sink.”

“Okay.”

True to her word, only Yang’s arm appeared through the gap, leaving behind a bundle as the door closed behind her. The gesture was so charmingly gallant, Blake bit her lip to keep it from trembling. 

_ Stop that right now. _ She scolded herself as she turned off the water and opened the shower door.  _ First you cry over a sandwich, now this? _

It wasn’t like Yang hadn’t seen her naked before. But now, in her dorm, in her bathroom, in her shower, she gave Blake courteous privacy. Maybe it was something that should be expected, simple human decency. 

Blake’s fingertips traced the scar on her lower abdomen, the souvenir of the moment when she lost her last shred of faith in human decency. In the low light of her bedroom it was all but invisible. Even in the glare from the row of bulbs over the mirror she could only just make it out. Maybe the pain that had crushed her spirit under its heel was finally starting to lessen.

She dressed in the clothes Yang had brought her. There was an old t-shirt, worn cozy and soft by many washings, the cartoon rabbit on the front extolling the virtues of a breakfast cereal in faded letters. And there was a pair of orange pajama shorts, boxers really, with a curious small repeating pattern of dumplings and chopsticks woven into the fabric. Maybe a gag gift from a holiday some time previous, or maybe Yang had bought them for herself, laughing at her own sense of absurdity.

Still toweling her hair, Blake stepped back into the main room of the studio dorm. Yang was at her desk, working on something on her computer. She wore a pair of large, noise-cancelling headphones, but only one of the earpieces was over her ear. 

She glanced up as Blake emerged. “For a second there I thought I was going to have to peel you off of the shower floor. How are you feeling?”

“Better, thanks.”

“Good. I’ve got some homework to finish, but go ahead and curl up in my bed. My tablet’s over there if you want to watch a movie. But,” She smiled as Blake tried to stifle a yawn. “Maybe it would be better if you just took a nap.”

Blake wasn’t about to argue with that, but instead of heading to the bed she ambled over to where Yang was seated and draped her arms around the other woman’s neck from behind. Her face nestled into the warm, sweet-smelling curve where Yang’s jawline met her neck. She leaned there for a moment, just breathing. Yang’s hand found Blake’s hair and blunt nails scratched absently against her scalp. Then she pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to the corner of Yang’s mouth, not quite her lips, before stumbling over to the bed.

It was soft, so soft. Sleep enveloped her like delicate fog.

______________________________________________________________

Yang pulled her headphones down, pushing herself away from her desk with a groan. She had finished grading all of the online quizzes for the automotive repair class, and she’d put in an hour or so on her AutoCAD project. The chassis on the motorcycle design she was creating was finally starting to look like something she’d like to ride, not a preschooler’s tricycle. It felt good to get so much work done in one sitting. It had been a while since she had felt so focused and motivated.

Stretching her back and rolling her neck, she felt the toll of her long hours of immobility. It was dark outside her windows. She checked the clock on her scroll— shit, how was it already 9:30? Blake had been asleep for nearly five hours.

Yang got up and went over to the bed. Blake slept intently, her body curled into a c-shape, clutching Yang’s pillow to her chest. Yang gently touched her shoulder.

“Hey Blake, do you need me to take you home? Do you work tomorrow morning?”

Blake stirred slightly, rolling towards Yang. She cracked one lid open, smiling drowsily. “Noooo. I have t’morrow off.” Her voice was sleep-addled, but Yang thought she probably knew what she was talking about. 

Yang pulled the blanket up higher around her shoulders and ran an affectionate hand through her hair. “Go back to sleep then. I’m going to eat something and brush my teeth, then I’ll join you.”

“‘Kay.” The sweet sleepy smile stayed, even as Blake’s breathing settled once more into the steady, deep pattern of unconsciousness.

Yang left the light in the kitchenette off, heating some instant noodles on the stove as quietly as possible by the glow of her desk lamp. She ate her dinner at her desk while reading an article in an online periodical about advancements in racing bikes. The innovation was impressive, but the thought of going that fast with so little between her and uncaring immovable objects made her chest feel tight. She put her scroll down and finished her dinner.

While brushing her teeth, Yang noticed the pile of clothes in the corner of the bathroom. She gathered up Blake’s abandoned garments and draped them over the arm of the futon. Yang didn’t imagine that Blake was the kind of person who usually left her clothes just lying around. She was very grateful she’d actually tidied her dorm before going to meet Blake at the coffee shop. The usual clutter was currently piled in her closet, and was definitely a problem for tomorrow-Yang.

She changed into a light cami and a pair of soft plaid pajama pants, then turned out the desk lamp. In the half-darkness she made her way across the room, dodging the familiar shapes of her free weights where they were piled by the foot of the bed. She crawled under the blankets, trying to disturb Blake as little as possible while gently extracting her pillow from the sleeping woman’s grasp.

Blake snuggled close, left arm twining over Yang’s chest and cheek resting on Yang’s shoulder. Looking at her, Yang could see she hadn’t woken. She was like a heat-seeking cuddle missile and Yang was her target. Not that Yang objected. She wrapped her own arms around that soft, precious body, and a wave of protective joy washed over her. With Blake’s soft breathing ghosting over the skin of her shoulder and collarbone, Yang fell contentedly to sleep.

______________________________________________________________

“NO!”

The loud cry right next to her ear woke Yang with a start. The sharp elbow that collided with her left cheekbone cleared her head of any remaining fuzziness as she rolled to try and get away from the flailing body in the bed next to her.

“Ow! Blake, what the fu—“

The other woman pushed herself out of bed with the clumsy movements of someone half-caught in a dream. Blake backed away, her hands raised protectively in front of her face. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I didn’t mean to, please don’t—“ In the darkness she didn’t see the stack of free weights, her foot coming down on the blunted hexagonal shape of one of the weights. To Yang’s horror, Blake’s ankle rolled and she pitched backwards with a cry. She hit the ground hard, then continued to scoot away from the bed until she backed into Yang’s bookcase. She huddled there, one hand on her foot, babbling apologies through her tears.

Yang’s eye was stinging— she would have a nice bruise there in the morning— but her heart hurt even worse. Blake was terrified.

Of  _ her _ ? 

She slowly got up from the bed, dropping down to a crouch when Blake flinched away, causing the bookcase behind her to wobble dangerously. 

“Hey, hey now. Shhhh. You’re safe. It’s just me. It’s Yang.”

“Yang?” Blake was breathing too fast, and her breaths were coming in horrible wheezing gasps. Her voice sounded very small and very far away.

“Yeah, Yang. You’re in my dorm. You’re safe. I won’t hurt you. I won’t let anyone hurt you. Babe, can I turn on the light?”

For a second, Yang was afraid Blake wasn’t going to be able to answer. The other woman was heaving with the force of her breathing now, and Yang could see she was shaking violently. Then a slight nod, followed quickly by a more adamant one.

Yang crawled over to her bedside table and flicked on the lamp. Blake blinked blindly in the warm glow. Her pupils were drowning in the gold of her irises, shrunken small by fear and sudden illumination. Yang crawled a little bit closer, keeping her posture low and unthreatening.

“Blake? Baby, I need to make sure you’re okay. Can I come over to you?”

A pause. Another nod.

Yang moved forward a few feet, paused, moved forward a few feet, paused. It was so hard to go slowly. All of her instincts screamed for her to leap up, wrap herself around Blake, tear the throat out of anyone who had hurt her. But she knew all too well that any comfort offered without warning would be as good as a blow to Blake where she was right now. 

At long last she was within reach. Blake wasn’t hyperventilating anymore but her breathing was far from normal. It was shallow and too slow, and Blake was still shaking like a leaf, but her face was still. Frozen. Her eyes stared at nothing.

“Okay, I’m here. I’m right next to you. I’m going to touch you on your arm. Do you hear me?”

A slow, dreamlike nod. Not good.

“Thank you.” Yang ran a gentle hand up the length of Blake’s right arm. When Blake flinched at the touch it twisted like a knife in her heart. She knew Blake wasn’t pulling away from her, but the fact that someone in some previous life had hurt her so badly… It made Yang want to burn the world to the ground.

But anger wasn’t helpful right now. Anger could wait. Right now she just needed Blake back from wherever she had retreated behind the blank golden pools of her eyes. “Blake, I’m going to wrap my arms around you, okay? I’m just going to hold you. Is that okay?”

Blake’s nod was a bit more certain this time. When Yang moved up beside her and gently draped her arms around Blake’s shoulders there was a moment of hesitation. Then Blake was pressed into her like she wanted to burrow into Yang and hide from the world. If she could, Yang would have let her. 

One tear, then another, fell onto the soft darkness of Blake’s hair. Yang swiped them away with her fingertips before pulling Blake even more snug to her chest. She realized that she was talking, her voice low and sweet. “...That’s it, that’s my girl. We’re going to be okay. I’ve got you. I won’t let anyone hurt you. You’re safe. I’ve got you. Hush, it’s going to be okay…”

After an eternity that was likely packed into about fifteen minutes, Blake’s trembling started to still. It was replaced by shivers which wracked her slender form, causing her teeth to chatter together.

“I need to go get you a blanket.”

“No.” It was the first coherent thing Blake had said, though it was muffled by the fact that she still had her face buried in Yang’s shoulder. “No, please don’t go.”

“Babe, you need to get warm. You’re having an adrenaline crash.” Blake only clung to her tighter. Yang sighed, weighing her options. “Okay then, I’m going to carry you. Put your arms around my shoulders.”

With a bit of maneuvering Yang was able to gather the smaller woman up in her arms. Her thighs burned as she rose to standing, but she didn’t waver. She carried her precious burden back to the bed and sat down, situating herself so that her back was to the headboard and Blake was curled in her lap. She pulled the blankets up, cocooning them together in soft warmth.

It took longer than it had any right to for Blake’s shivering to stop. Yang ran a hand down to one slender wrist so that she could feel the pulse that hammered there. It was fast and weak at first, but grew stronger and slower as they sat together. Her own adrenaline wore off, and Yang felt weary to her bones.

“I’m sorry.” Blake’s voice was ragged and soft, but it was present. 

Yang sat up a bit so she could see Blake’s face. Her eyes were focused, though she still looked drawn and pale. “You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

“Yeah, I do. Fuck, look at your poor eye.” Blake’s fingers brushed the edge of the swelling and Yang winced involuntarily. “Gods, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have— I don’t—“

Yang caught Blake’s fingers and intertwined them with her own. “You didn’t do it on purpose. My face was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Since Blake seemed to be doing better, Yang reorganized them a bit so that Blake was able to see her without craning her neck and back. “How’s your foot? You twisted it when you fell.”

“It aches a bit. I fell? How did I fall?” Blake was anxious, embarrassed, frustrated with herself. “I don’t remember falling.”

“I‘m not surprised. It happens, don’t worry. It’ll come back or it won’t, but you can’t force it to come back.”

“I know that.” Blake sighed, rubbing her face with her hands, as though to clear anything that lingered from the long nightmare of the last hour. “This isn’t my first night terror turned panic attack. I haven’t had one in such a long time though…” Her shoulders slumped. Then she looked back up at Yang. “How did you know that?”

“It’s not my first panic attack either, though I’m not usually the one doing the comforting.” It was more than she would share under normal conditions, but these were pretty far from normal conditions. “You’re probably starving right about now. Can I get you some yogurt, or,” and she had to smile a bit. “Some canned spaghetti?”

That made Blake laugh, and even though it was a creaking, shaky sound, Yang glowed. “Just yogurt would be fine. Thanks.”

Yang got them each a cup of strawberry yogurt and a spoon, and, remembering her own experiences, filled a large glass with water from the tap. They sat together on the bed, eating their midnight yogurt, Blake’s shoulder pressed firmly against Yang’s. When she was done, Blake tipped her head back against the headboard with a heavy exhale.

“You probably want to know what the hell all of that was about.”

“Blake, you don’t owe me an explanation. It happened. We don’t have to talk about it right now.”

“I  _ do  _ owe you an explanation!” Blake protested. “Or, I mean, I want to explain it to you. I just… I want you to know.”

Yang pulled Blake close again, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple. “Okay, you can tell me. But don’t push yourself.”

Blake stared down at the empty yogurt in her hands. “I haven’t stayed over at someone else’s place in… years. I trusted someone, once. Someone I shouldn’t have trusted, but I was too young and he was so charming. I thought I was doing a good thing, that he knew what the right path was. He… Hurt me. A lot.”

Yang was silent, but she reached out and took Blake’s hand. 

“I finally realized I had to get out of there. Ilia helped me. But my parents, I didn’t think they would understand. We left Menagerie, came all the way here. It was a new start. It’s been three years. I see my therapist every other week. I thought I was getting  _ better _ .” Her voice was bitter. “But I guess ‘better’ is subjective.”

They sat for a moment. Outside, somewhere in the city, a siren wailed. It had started raining a while ago and droplets pattered against the window behind them. Finally Yang broke the silence. “I haven’t talked to my mom in a few years either. It’s not really comparable, but… I know how hard that is.” This was too much, but it wasn’t enough either. Not with Blake torn open in front of her. She cleared her throat and gathered the yogurt cups and spoons. “Well, I’m too keyed up to sleep right now, but I’m too brain dead to do much of anything else. What do you think about putting on a dumb movie and snuggling until we get tired?”

Blake nodded, but her expression was still troubled. “Yeah, that sounds nice. But…”

Yang paused, spoons poised over the sink. 

“Can we leave a light on?”

“Whatever you need.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR’S NOTES:  
> -Kali totally packed cute bento for Blake when she was in elementary school. She packed them for Ghira too, and he pretended not to like it but he looooved it.  
> -I turn into the biggest sad whiny baby when I’m hungry. It’s pathetic.  
> -YES, THAT IS A PUMPKIN PETE SHIRT THANKS FOR ASKING (there’s gotta be some perks of being best friends with the mascot)  
> -Also, those boxers? They have Xiao Long Bao (soup dumplings) on them. Yang loves a good pun.  
> -Have some Blake angst. Or Bl-ache, as I like to call it. ….I’ll see myself out...  
> -FROM THE BREAK: Blake panics, Yang talks her down. Blake reveals that she was in an abusive relationship, and that she left Menagerie as a result. Yang reveals that she has had panic attacks too, which is why she knew what to do.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruby reflects on the obvious affection between Yang and Blake. She and Nora team up to get them to admit the truth.
> 
> Pyrrha talks Yang through her self-destructive denial, and is generally a perfect human being.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RECOMMENDED LISTENING:  
> -“I Can Dream”, Manatee Commune feat. Bayonne & Effee

Listen to the Spotify playlist (curated by the author’s wife, @spoopsboops) [HERE](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0NAkxw0y9KBjkbqX3Yum36?si=Ai7gHVZeQy6fn-kR28ZErg).

Follow on Tumblr and Instagram @probably_momo, for art and writing updates.

______________________________________________________________

“So, what have you been up to these past couple of weeks?”

Ruby was picking up coffee before heading back to campus, the weather finally clear enough that she could skateboard through the neighborhood without looking like she had swum all the way to Patch and back. She had both of her elbows planted on the hand-off plane at the end of the espresso bar, and she leaned heavily on them as she grinned at Blake. She knew that there was something going on between Yang and the pretty barista, but neither seemed willing to admit it. Naturally, it was her duty as a sister to tease them until one or both of them cracked under the pressure.

“Mostly working on my thesis portfolio. It’s coming along really well, but there’s so much beading and embroidery…” Blake sighed melodramatically, but her hands were steady as she poured steamed milk over espresso shots. “This is my final thesis before graduation. Ultimately, it will be what any future employers or clients will consider when they view my body of work. The pressure is intense, and it doesn’t help that I feel like I’ve bitten off more than I can chew.”

Ruby could empathize with that— whenever she took on a new project there was always a point where she felt like it was too much, too big, that she could never accomplish it all. She nodded thoughtfully at Blake. “There’s a lot on the line for you, I get that… But sometimes taking on big stuff is how we find out we can do so much more than we thought we could.” She eyed Blake, sizing her up. “Besides, do you have any idea how totally badass you are? It’s going to be awesome. Even my sister won’t be able to mess it up.”

A blush sprung to Blake’s cheeks at the mention of Yang. “Hey now, that’s not completely fair. She’s been really helpful with the whole process.” She handed off the latte to a customer behind Ruby, then turned back to her with a smile. “I’m glad that you think that, even if you’ve never seen my work before.”

“Sure, I’ve never gone to any of the runway shows, but I found your online portfolio. The stuff in there is innovative— I like how you tie elements of the traditional and modern into your designs.” Ruby innocently sipped her iced quadruple caramel macchiato, quietly delighting in the surprise that this comment elicited. 

Blake gaped at her for a moment, then barked a laugh. “Do you internet stalk everyone your sister makes friends with?”

“Heck no, ain’t nobody got time for that. But I do make a point of finding out the interests and hobbies of the people that _I_ make friends with, so I can have meaningful conversations with them. And it barely counted as internet stalking, your portfolio is linked on the Fashion Design department’s webpage.” She looked down at the counter, fidgeting with her drink as a wave of worry hit her. Maybe she had said too much— she didn’t know Blake all that well, not really, and what if she’d overstepped some invisible boundary? She liked to get a handle on people she wanted to be better friends with, to put herself on even footing when it came to her least favorite part of social interactions. She twisted her straw between her fingers, crunching it inadvertently.

A hand entered Ruby’s line of sight, holding out a new straw in a paper wrapper. “I’m glad you like my work, Ruby. It just surprised me, I don’t think anyone has ever voluntarily looked at that portfolio before. Thank you.” Blake’s voice was sincere, and she smiled warmly as Ruby looked up to meet her gaze. “I created that for a class last semester and the critique was… Not very encouraging. But it was helpful. It gave me an idea of where I needed to go, and what I needed to do to get there.” She held out another drink to Ruby, a large iced black coffee.

“What’s this?”

“Well, if you’re already going to campus… Would you mind bringing this to Yang? She’s been over at the auto lab since seven this morning and I’m sure she’s dying by now.”

Ruby couldn’t help but laugh, especially since Blake was now blushing significantly. “Oh, I DEFINITELY don’t mind!” She restrained herself from asking how, exactly, Blake knew when Yang had gotten into the lab that morning.

Blake chuckled along with her, in spite of her glowing cheeks. “Yeah, yeah. Try not to tease her too much when you drop it off, okay?”

“That’s like handing Nora a big red button and telling her not to push it! But sure, I’ll _try_ not to tease her too much.” Ruby grabbed one of the cardboard drink trays from the stack next to the counter, settling the two cups in place and pushing the paper bag that held her cinnamon bun between them for safekeeping. She clipped her helmet beneath her chin, then zipped up her hoodie. “Have a good day Blake. Thanks for… just, being you I guess. You’ve got this.” 

The barista returned her wave as Ruby headed towards the door. Blake definitely seemed to have evolved somehow over the last few weeks. Ruby couldn’t put her finger on it, she was just… different.

She popped in one earbud, putting her EDM playlist on low volume. Pulling her skateboard loose from where it was strapped to her backpack and dropping it to the sidewalk, Ruby set off towards campus with her mind buzzing with the question of Yang and Blake. She had seen the way Yang acted around the quiet, sarcastic brunette at the trivia competition, but what surprised her more than anything that night was what she _didn’t_ see. Yang wasn’t performing in front of Blake. She was herself, with all of her quirks and bravado and her sincerity. Like she was around Pyrrha, Nora, Jaune, or Ruby herself. It was strange, but a good strange.

Ruby jumped her board off of the sidewalk into the bike lane to avoid a woman walking a tiny fluffy dog, easily keeping the tray of drinks balanced in one hand as she half-listened to the heavy bass of the music pumping in her ear. Yang might’ve traded her skateboard in for a motorcycle, but Ruby still loved the freedom she felt flying down the sidewalk propelled by her own strength and the smooth glide of the four small wheels under her.

The crowds of pedestrians got thicker as she got onto Beacon campus. Ruby kicked her board up into her hand and resigned herself to walking the rest of the way to the Spring Hall. She popped in the other earbud and turned up her playlist, keeping her eyes ahead and focusing on avoiding the clusters of students that veered in front of her or loitered in the middle of the path. She’d been at Beacon for three years and she had gotten more used to the throngs of people in the quad, especially on sunny, warm days. She daydreamed about hopscotching over their heads, leaping between buildings and soaring through the sky like a gust of wind… And that got her all the way to the Spring Hall without too much anxiety.

Rather than contend with the thronging hallways, Ruby dropped her board and pushed off, heading around the side of the building where the shops and labs stood open to the air and sunshine. She rolled up on the auto lab just as Nora and her big lab partner were starting to power-wash the grime off of a once-regal town car.

“RUBY! YOU BROUGHT ME COFFEE!” Her friend’s usually piercing voice was only made louder by the presence of neon green foam plugs in her ears.

“NO IT’S FOR YANG! YOU’D HATE IT!” Ruby obligingly screamed back, holding the paper tray out of Nora’s reach.

“What’s for me?” Yang looked a bit harried. There was thick black grease smeared up her forearms to her elbows and she wiped futilely at her hands with a shop rag. When she spotted the coffee that her sister held aloft, Yang’s expression relaxed into a massive, grateful smile. “Oh my gods, coffee. Thanks Rubes, you’re a lifesaver.”

Ruby handed the large drink over with a grin and a shrug. “I’m just the delivery girl. For some reason the barista thought you could really use a pick me up this morning.”

That did the trick. Yang went red from chin to ear tips— Ruby could almost see the color rising up her face like the mercury in a thermometer. She also snatched the cup out of Ruby’s outstretched hand, which was confirmation enough. “Gimme that.”

“No hug for your sister who braved the mean streets to bring you this cherished token from your paramour?” Ruby’s voice affected the suffering tone of a tragic actor. She knew she was pushing her luck, but she couldn’t help it. Poking at Yang when she was embarrassed was addictive.

“FROM YOUR WHATNOW?” Nora shoved the pressure washer wand into her partner’s hands and executed a skillful (if somewhat damp) hood slide to end up next to the sisters. She extracted an earplug, grinning evilly. “I’m sorry, I thought I saw you say PARAMOUR?! Is this fling official now? Can we bust out the champagne I have stored under my couch for a rainy day?”

Yang glared daggers at both of them, her face still glowing red like a tomato. “No paramour, no fling, and no weird couch champagne! Gods, once you two get your teeth into an idea you just won’t let it go!” She turned up her nose at them and took a long drink from the coffee with the finality of someone who felt they had laid the argument to rest.

Silver eyes went wide with surprised delight— Ruby poked at the side of the cup with one triumphant finger. “Methinks the lady doth protest too much, Nora my chum. If there’s no paramour or fling, why is there a heart drawn on the cup next to your name?” The permanent marker, once invisible with the background of dark coffee, now showed up against the clear ice within the partially-emptied cup. Yang’s name was written in an artistic, looping hand, and, sure enough, there was a damning heart drawn there as well.

The two crowed their glee, alternating between leaping around Yang in something akin to a victory dance, high-fiving each other, and poking Yang occasionally as they pranced by. That ritual would have probably continued until Yang banged their heads together like coconuts and stormed off, but Pyrrha appeared on the scene, equal parts majestic and confused. Drawn by the noise and then by curiosity, the statuesque redhead approached the strange trifecta. She looked to Yang for some kind of explanation, since it was obvious she wouldn’t get anything sensible from Nora or Ruby.

Mutely, and with a degree of reluctance, Yang held out the cup for her best friend to view.

“Oh my gosh, that’s so sweet! Is that a heart?” 

This caused Nora to burst into full-on hysterical laughter, and Ruby giggled along with her, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. 

Yang gave up at that point, pushing past her sister and her erstwhile friend. She retreated back into the shop, and the promised sanctuary of the office, to finish her coffee in peace. Pyrrha followed her, pelting her with gentle, well-meaning questions. 

Finally catching her breath, Ruby straightened and winced, rubbing at the ache in her side from prolonged laughter. Nora calmed down soon after, still occasionally bubbling with a giggle. She swiped Ruby’s iced coffee from where she had left it on a tool chest and took a healthy swig. 

“Hey, c’mon! That one’s mine!”

“Too much cream, not enough syrup.” Nora contemplated the cup, then took another long pull from it before passing it back to her friend. “She drew a heart on yours too, though. Our theory, though delightful, might not hold water.”

Ruby smirked knowingly. “Oh, the heart on the cup might just be a sign of general affection for the customer, true. BUT considering the fact that Blake definitely knew what time Yang got here this morning and had a very similar reaction to my inquiries as my dear sister... I’d say we’re on the right track.” 

Nora chuckled in a moderately evil manner. “In that case we will simply have to take matters into our own hands.”

“...I guess I’ll finish this whole car myself then.” Ruby had entirely forgotten about Nora’s lab partner, and from her startled expression it would appear that Nora had as well. He was now watching them with an expression somewhere between charmed amusement and irritation. It was a common fruit-salad of emotions, experienced by many people who found themselves in Ruby and Nora’s combined presence. 

“Oh thanks Yatsu, I’ll just go chat with Ruby—- FFFUCK THAT’S COLD!”

The pressure washer, output turned down to the level of a very efficient super soaker, hit Nora mid-sentence with a well-aimed blast. She glared at the man, wringing hose water out of her coveralls. “Okay, fine. I’ll come help. You could’ve just asked.”

“This was more fun.” He flashed Ruby a small smile before turning back to their task.

Not having to be anywhere for at least another hour, Ruby took a seat on the low wall that separated the open bays of the power tech labs from the walking path. From there she had an excellent view of Nora and Yatsu, now engaged in a low-key water fight, and of the people passing by on the path. It led back to the Azure and Carmine buildings, the two newly constructed dorms that housed the Freshman and Sophomore students, as well as the cafeteria on the first floor of the Carmine building. 

Ruby and Penny shared a room in the Jasper dorm, all the way across the quad. Exchange students often stayed in that dorm, making it a lively, eccentric building. She had been roommates with Penny since freshman year, when they were paired together by chance. Perhaps recognizing a kindred spirit, Penny had enthusiastically declared them to be friends, and they had been ever since. Penny was now texting Ruby intermittently with updates from her incredibly dull “Sociology of Robotics” class. ( **_It has no right to be this boring, the topic is fascinating!!!_ **)

Ruby had finished her coffee and cinnamon bun and was playing a mobile RPG on her scroll by the time Nora was done with class. The redhead let out a blustery sigh and collapsed onto the wall next to her, dropping her backpack carelessly at their feet. Nora had changed out of her coveralls into her street clothes, and was now clad comfortably in pink sneakers, light denim jeans, a teal t-shirt with a cartoon bunny on it, and a grey denim jacket. Her short red hair was pulled back into two little pigtails, copious clips holding flyaways close to her head.

“I haaaaaaate early classes. Why do I do this to myself?” It was a familiar lament. Anything before 1pm counted as an early class for Nora, who was comfortable staying up until 3am and sleeping until noon. 

“Because it’s your last term and you need this class to graduate.” Ruby’s tiny digital hero sent a barrage of magic arrows at the mega-slime she was fighting, causing it to erupt into a shower of goo. She slid her scroll into her pocket and turned to smile at her friend. “Hey, do you know anything about what’s _really_ going on between Yang and Blake? She… doesn’t really talk to me about that sort of stuff.”

Nora thumped her shoulder sympathetically. “You’re still her little sister, no matter how old either of you get.” She gazed up at the sky, kicking her heels against the concrete bricks of the wall. “I don’t think I know any more than you do. Yang’s playing this one close to her chest— which might be a good sign, if you think about it. Maybe she’s not throwing it around because she actually really cares about Blake, and about how whatever is going on between them turns out.”

“Or it could be because she’s an emotionally stunted troll woman who has the expressive ability of a log.” It wasn’t fair— Ruby knew it wasn’t fair. But it hurt that her sister, someone she’d been close with ever since she was old enough to remember, wouldn’t share something with her that obviously brought Yang joy. Not that she’d ever really involved Ruby in that aspect of her life. But with those other girls, Ruby could understand. She didn’t know them, they didn’t know her, and Yang wasn’t ever super serious with any of them. Not to the ‘sending you coffee because I know you need it’ point, or the ‘gazing at you in a crowd when I think no one is looking’ point. Ruby sighed.

“...C’mon Ruby. I’ll walk you to class.”

“Okay. But I’m not letting this one go.”

“And you think I am? We’re going to get to the bottom of this, don’t you worry.” As they stood Nora slung an arm over Ruby’s shoulders. The picture they made, setting off across campus in a conspiratorial huddle, would’ve made Yang’s blood run cold if she had been able to see it.

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Yang was pacing when Pyrrha caught up with her in the shop office. She was also three quarters of the way through her large iced coffee, which was not a good sign either. Pyrrha gently caught the cup as Yang started to bring the straw back up to her mouth, tugging it out of her friend’s grip to place it on the desk. 

“Are you okay, Yang?” She laid weight into those words. Weight that said she wouldn’t tolerate placating half-answers or almost-truths. If she knew anything, Pyrrha knew how to gently, stubbornly, push her way through the Kevlar walls her friend threw up around anything that might be perceived as an honest emotion.

Yang glared when her coffee was removed, but caught Pyrrha’s tone and dropped into the tattered swivel-chair with a defeated sigh. She ran a hand through her bangs, heedless of the grease that ended up streaking her golden hair. “I’m… actually not terrible, Pyrr. Really, I think the only problem is—“ She paused, her gaze falling back on the drink, her name standing out in accusatory calligraphy. “I think the only problem is, there _isn’t_ a problem. It makes me feel like I’m lying to myself, or like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

There was tension in every line of Yang’s body. Pyrrha rested her hip against the surface of the desk, balancing out Yang’s anxiety with her own easy calm. She knew that if she waited, Yang would tell her what she needed to say.

With a sigh, Yang reached out and picked up the cup. She rolled it between her palms, violet eyes unfocused. “Either I’m lying to her, which is why she hasn’t headed for the hills yet. Or she’s not being totally honest with me, which is why she’s still sticking around, in spite of… me.” Yang grimaced. “Wow, that sounds really self-pitying when I say it out loud.”

“No shit.” Pyrrha raised an eyebrow at her friend, but her gaze was level and her tone without judgement. “Obviously something is going on here, more than just your usual love’em and leave’em order of operations. I don’t think you _really_ think she’s staying because she’s somehow damaged enough that she deserves you, or that she’s staying out of pity. I’ll say it over and over again until it finally gets through to you: you are worthy of happiness Yang. You care about what Blake thinks because you care about her as a person, and she cares about you, believe it or not. I’m not saying—“ She raised a finger as Yang opened her mouth to voice an objection, “I’m not saying that you’re experiencing the dreaded L-word, don’t worry. But it’s obvious that you care about her, regardless of where this ends up going. That’s not a crime, Yang.”

“If it’s not a crime, then why do I feel guilty? What if really all she wants is a model for her portfolio and a friend with benefits, and I’m over here catching feelings and putting expectations onto her that will ultimately hurt her...” Calloused fingertips picked aimlessly at the plastic rim of the cup, tiny movements betraying larger discomfort. 

“We hooked up after the trivia finals. It was… amazing. We spent the next day together. I brought a picnic, it was super romantic. Very out of my wheelhouse, but she loved it.” The laugh that followed was harsh, self-deprecating. Yang sipped at her coffee, still gazing off into the middle distance. “Later that week she showed me the plans she has for her portfolio, for what I’m modeling. I knew she had to be talented, but damn… I guess I never really thought about how much work goes into designing and making clothes. She’s working herself half to death. I took her back to my dorm because she was dead on her feet, let her take a shower and made her a sandwich, tucked her into bed. She snores. Not super loud, just these cute little snuffles. Anyway, I ended up falling asleep next to her and next thing I know I’ve got a black eye and she’s having a panic attack next to my calculus textbooks. I… talked her back. Like you and Ruby did for me when… back then.”

Her fingers itched to catch Yang’s hand, to grasp her shoulder, to grab her friend and pull her into a bone-crushing hug. But Pyrrha knew that that would only be a comfort to her, not to Yang. Yang needed to experience this without outside interference. So Pyrrha sat on her hands, her heart tugged in the five thousand directions she had become familiar with when dealing with Yang’s own particular brand of self-destructive denial. 

Yang continued. “It was so natural, like I couldn’t do anything else but help her. Be strong for her. I haven’t been strong for someone like that since Ruby was a kid.” An unsteady exhale. “She told me she was with this guy before. He hurt her, a lot. She hadn’t slept in an unfamiliar bed since, and when she woke up and didn’t know where she was, she panicked. It’s funny though, it didn’t really seem like that was the whole story.”

“...And I’m sure you laid your whole past bare for her then and there.” The words were mocking, but her tone was gentle. Pyrrha smiled sympathetically at her friend.

A snort and an irritated shrug of strong shoulders. “She said she moved away from her home and her parents because of it. I told her I haven’t talked with my mom in a while.”

“Well _that’s_ an understatement.”

“Fuck, Pyrrha. What should I have said? She was shaking like she was going to fall apart in my arms and all I wanted to do was hold her until all of her broken pieces welded back together again.” Yang clenched her jaw, obviously feeling like she’d said too much.

Now Pyrrha gave into her instinct to reach across the distance between them. She squeezed Yang’s shoulder, trying to embody all of her care and support into that single gesture. Yang’s bullet-proof defense system was crumbling, just a bit. “Maybe you could talk to her? When neither of you are in fight or flight mode, when the playing field is even? It might not be such a bad thing to let someone in.”

This elicited the expected growl and violet glare, but Yang didn’t pull away from the comforting hand on her shoulder. “You make it sound so damn easy.”

“I know it’s not easy. Look at me— look at the person I ended up falling in love with. It never was easy. It still isn’t. But it’s worthwhile, especially when you’re no longer living superficially.” Pyrrha chuckled, soft and contemplative. “And as much as you hate to admit it, I think you two are well past the superficial. So you have two options: let whatever this could be shrivel on the vine, or talk to her and let yourself be vulnerable. Just for a moment. You’ll never know until you try.”

In the intervening moments Yang polished off the last of her iced coffee. She made a move to throw the cup into the wastebasket by the door, then caught herself. Instead, she set the cup gently back onto the surface of the desk, turning it so that her elegantly written name faced her. “I guess I could try this vulnerability thing you keep talking about. But if this blows up in my face, you’d better believe I’m blaming you entirely for the ungodly amount of beer and tacos it will take to drown my sorrows.”

“Now that is entirely fair.” Pyrrha pushed off of the desk, stretching her long back and ushering forth a symphony of unpleasant pops and crunches. “Let’s run after class— it’s far too nice of a day to spend it inside the gym.”

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ART CORNER:

[-sketchy map of Beacon PolyTech campus](https://probably-momo.tumblr.com/post/640594169134546944/very-sketchy-layout-of-beacon-polytech-campus), in case you were curious

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR’S NOTES:  
> -Ruby loves Yang so much, and she shows it by irritating her any chance she gets. Because sisters.  
> -I couldn’t resist a little poke at Nora and Weiss in the vacuum tube from Volume 8. It was such a great moment.  
> -Ruby knows it’s a good idea to stay aware of her surroundings, as this has saved her from getting mowed down by inattentive drivers several times. This fic is three degrees of separation from becoming an after school special. One with porn, eheh.  
> -Ew, couch champagne. Warm brut is GROSS Nora!  
> -Vale’s Greatest Detectives, hard at work. (Back when we first started dating I totally adorned all of Spoops’ coffees with little hearts when she came to see me at work. Her friends teased her mercilessly about it.)  
> -Naturally, Penny is majoring in Robotics engineering. I’m sorry to all of you lovely folks who ship Nuts-n-Dolts, in this fic their relationship is very close but entirely platonic.  
> -Mom-friend Pyrrha gives me LIFE  
> -Even with couple goals Pyrrha and Jaune, things aren’t always simple or straightforward.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s time Yang and Blake had a talk about their demons— letting someone in is easier when that someone knows similar horror and pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: This chapter contains descriptions of parental death, a motorcycle crash, PTSD, unsuccessful therapy, and graphic domestic violence. 
> 
> RECOMMENDED LISTENING:  
> -“Subtle Love”, birthday  
> -“Dreaming, Backwards”, Ella Vos

Listen to the Spotify playlist (curated by the author’s wife, @spoopsboops) [HERE](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0NAkxw0y9KBjkbqX3Yum36?si=F0JnjDVrSoG3dLea7EAGbQ).

Follow on Tumblr and Instagram @probably_momo, for art and writing updates.

______________________________________________________________

**:Yang: hey, are u available to talk tonite?**

**:Yang: fuck didn’t mean for that to sound like a -we need to talk- text**

**:Yang: i just want to tell you some stuff**

She gazed at her scroll, simultaneously wishing she could steal back the words on the screen and relieved that she had gotten up the guts to send them at all. Yang sat in her dorm, freshly showered after her run with Pyrrha, her hair still wrapped up in a towel turban and piled on top of her head. 

After a moment the three dots appeared, indicating Blake was typing a reply.

**:Blake: I’ll be home from 5:30 on, as long as you don’t mind if I’m working on beading while we talk. :)**

**:Yang: anything i can help with?**

**:Blake: Can you stitch seed beads onto fine net lace?**

**:Yang: ...i’ll bring dinner**

**:Blake: That sounds great. See you tonight!**

With a long exhale that sounded a bit like the release of pressure from an over-filled tire, Yang flopped back on her mattress. It was— she checked her scroll— 5pm now. She could get changed into something decent, swing by Calavera’s, and be at Blake’s by six. Her stomach growled, a combination of anxiety and hunger twisting her guts into knots. They were going to talk. There was no backing out now.

Yang tried to dress without putting too much attention into her outfit. _It’s not a date_ , she told herself, _just wear whatever you normally would wear. Shit, what do I normally wear??_

She ended up wearing her oldest, most comfortable pair of jeans, ragged at the cuffs and splotched with sky blue paint on the right thigh from when she helped Ruby repaint their dad’s kitchen. She grabbed one of her many brewery t-shirts and pulled her leather jacket on over it, dropping scroll, keys, and wallet into the zippered pockets in the jacket’s front. 

The ride over to Calavera’s was quick, just a jaunt around the campus commons, past the assortment of students sprawled out on the lawn in various stages of pretending to study. It was a nice day, the frequent spring rains parting for a moment and the warmth of the sun pulling humidity from the ground in a low blanket of damp. 

Yang didn’t bother locking her helmet up, opting to tuck it into the crook of her arm as she pushed into the small restaurant. The dinner rush had started already, mostly older people who liked to eat dinner while the sun was still up. As Yang approached the counter a young man came through the swinging doors from the kitchen, carrying a cardboard box filled with enticingly greasy-looking paper bags. 

“I’ve got a carry-out order for Pete.” A broad-chested man with an ostentatious walrus mustache collected the order from Maria’s sole employee, nodding to Yang in a friendly, almost chivalrous manner, as he passed her on the way to the front door. 

“How can I help you today?” Yang had seen the man at the counter before, though he was usually kept busy in the kitchen. He had dark tan skin and messy, coppery hair and, she realized with surprise, he was blind. His irises and pupils were entirely glazed over with grey, though he looked right at her as he spoke. “If you need a minute to decide, let me know. I’ve got stuff to do.”

Now that was familiar. It seemed that Maria’s particular brand of customer service was also modeled by her employee.

“Oh, yeah. I know what I want, just zoning out for a minute I guess.”

He gave a snort and a wry smile twisted his mouth, pulling at the scar that bisected his lower lip. “Oh hey, I know you. Just a sec— MARIA!” 

“WHAT DO YOU WANT?!” The shout carried down the staircase that disappeared behind the register, obviously leading to some mysterious quarters above. 

“YOUR FAVORITE CUSTOMER IS HERE, YOU OLD COOT!” He turned back to Yang, grinning widely. “She’ll be right down.” With that, he disappeared back through the swinging doors into the kitchen.

“I ought to fire you, you disrespectful whelp— Oh, he’s gone already. Damn.” The tiny woman stumped down the stairs, leaning heavily on her carved walking stick. She stopped in front of Yang, beaming myopically up at her through the thick lenses of her glasses and patting the younger woman on the arm with one gnarled hand. “Hello Yang, dear. Nice of you to drop by. How are you doing today?”

“Pretty good, thanks Maria. Classes are going well, I should be set to graduate at the end of the semester.”

“They’re letting you out into the world? Gods help us all.” The wicked grin on the tiny woman’s face was made all the more maniacal by the magnification of her thick glasses. She walked around the counter and hopped up on her stool. “I’m proud of you, but you probably didn’t just stop by here to chat with an old lady. What can I get you?”

Yang placed her order to-go, but when she got to, “...And halibut tacos with no cilantro…” Maria crowed with victory.

“Taco date girl is still in the picture, eh! Are you doing more ‘work’ on her ‘car’?” 

“I told you, it’s not a euphemism. And that wasn’t a date, it was...uh… a business meeting?”

Maria may not have been able to see Yang very well, but the look she leveled at the blonde was so skeptical it felt like X-ray vision. “Uh huh. Oh-kay then, ‘business meeting’, I see how it is…”

“I really think you don’t.”

“You can keep your secrets, you don’t owe me anything. I’m just a humble taqueria owner, with no grandchildren of my own, living vicariously through my young, beautiful, shameless customers…”

This wasn’t getting anywhere. Yang sighed. “I’m modeling for her fashion portfolio at the end of the term. We met because of the car, and because she makes coffee for my sister and gave me flak for my fashion choices. She came to the trivia finals over at the Crow Bar. We… hang out. We’re friends.” It felt like a lame finish, but Yang wasn’t sure what else to say. What she had with Blake wasn’t something she was ready to analyze further than the fact that being around Blake made her happy. Happier than she’d been in years.

“Ah.” The expression turned shrewd, then sympathetic. “Well, that sounds quite nice. Halibut tacos with extra cilantro then?”

“Maria!”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Extra, EXTRA, cilantro, my mistake.” 

Leaving Yang collapsed against the counter in defeat, Maria spun her stool so that she could reach the bell in the pass-through. She dinged it imperiously, then shouted through the window. “Carne asada tacos. Halibut tacos, no pico.” A grunt of assent from the kitchen told her that the red-headed man had heard the order. 

Yang fished her wallet out of her pocket, feeling a bit like she’d turned the wrong direction down a one-way street. She had suspected she might get the third degree, and as much as she wanted to be irritated by it she found herself touched by how much Maria actually cared. After all, she didn’t owe Yang anything; not her interest or her affection, certainly.

“Put that away.”

Confused, Yang looked between her wallet and the taqueria owner. “Maria, what—“

“Put it away. This one’s on me.” Maria crossed her arms, her steely gaze daring Yang to say anything about this unexpected largess. “One of the perks of running my own business. I can treat my favorite customer to dinner every once in a while.” With that she hopped down and disappeared through the swinging door. Yang could hear her barking at her employee and his sarcastic sounding responses.

The sound of the mariachi music, the fountain, and the distant murmur of the early bird special crowd, all surrounded Yang. She went over and sat on the bench by the door, contemplating the collection of papier-mâché macaws hanging in ring perches over the register. It was nice. She felt like she belonged.

After a few minutes Maria emerged, Yang’s order tucked into a plastic grocery bag with a logo from a local grocery store chain. Yang pushed herself off of the bench and met the proprietress at the counter. As she reached for the bag, a little bony hand shot out and caught hers. 

“I’m so glad, my dear, that you have a friend like her.”

The full weight of the words hit Yang in the chest like a bag of sand. She squeezed Maria’s hand, smiling a bit shakily at her.

Just as quickly the grip was released. Maria climbed back up on her stool and waved Yang away with an indifferent manner.

“Now go, you’re going to scare my customers away.”

“Thanks Maria.” Yang quickly stuffed a five lien bill into the tip jar by the register.

“Get out of here, you brat! And I’d better see you again before the end of the month!”

______________________________________________________________

Yang felt a bit silly knocking on the imposing front door at the house at the corner of Paintbrush and Maiden Way. She paused for a long moment after she released the knocker (really, a knocker? How extra can you get?), briefly considering hauling ass home with her double order of tacos to spend a long, self-indulgent evening alone with bad television and regrets. 

Then, from deep in the house, she heard something that sounded like “COME IN IT’S UNLOCKED”. With some perturbation she pushed through the front door, peering around for the source of the summons.

“I’m in here, I’m in the middle of this level and I only have one heart left!” Yang followed the voice and the familiar sound of video game music into the room down the hall, closest to the stairs. Blake’s roommate Sun was sprawled out on the couch, staring with rapt attention from his half upside-down position at the Water Temple level of Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time.

“Ah, shit dude. This place sucks. You gotta reset the temple, then put on the iron boots and move the stone at the bottom first. It’ll save you a whole lot of time.”

Sun flailed, and his little Hylian avatar suffered an untimely demise to the sphinctery maw of a Likelike. 

“Oh shit, you’re not Gary!”

“You lost your shield too, lame.” Yang leaned against the doorframe, her amusement at startling the blond man overwhelming her anxiety at visiting Blake’s house during daylight hours like a normal person. “Who’s Gary?”

“He’s my pizza guy. He knows where to find the cash I leave him on the kitchen table and leaves the pizzas by the door.”

“Man, you’d be so easy to murder.”

Sun snorted derisively at the thought. “Unlikely, I know mad Kung Fu. What are you doing here anyway?”

Yang hoped he couldn’t see the cold sweat the question brought to her brow. She shrugged carelessly, hiding her discomfort. “Where’s Blake? I brought dinner— we’re gonna hang out.”

“She’s on the back porch. What’d you get me?”

Obviously there was no room to feel awkward around the enthusiastic man. Yang hunted around in the bag she carried and chucked him a small, greasy packet.

“Aw sweet, chips!” As she turned away, she heard his plaintive whine. “What, no salsa?”

“You’ve got pizza coming, I wouldn’t want to ruin your dinner.”

She backtracked to the kitchen, memory leading her to the door that opened out onto a wide sun porch and steps leading down into the small, well-groomed yard. 

“I hear you saw Sun.”

Yang turned at the sound of Blake’s voice, and was momentarily transported by the appearance of her. She was seated on a wide porch swing, her white peasant blouse and her gauzy lavender skirt pooling and flowing over her lap giving her the appearance of a maiden from one of Pyrrha’s romance novels. The image was completed by the delicate needlework in her lap and the little black cat curled up beside her. Blake smiled so warmly at Yang that for a moment she thought her spine had liquified from the heat that stirred within her. 

“I certainly did.” She didn’t want to talk about him though, as charming as he was. “Damn, you look amazing. How’s your work coming along?”

Blake colored a bit at the compliment, but looked pleased. “It’s going faster now that I’ve got the swing of the beading pattern. How about you— how are you doing?”

Suddenly feeling very clumsy and large in comparison to Blake’s delicate grace, Yang shifted from foot to foot. “It’s good. I’ve been running a lot, since the weather has been so nice. Nora managed to drop a piston on her foot the other day— she swore in at least two languages I’ve never heard before.”

“Oh no! Is she ok?”

“She’s got to wear this walking boot for the next three weeks, but she’ll be fine. And she’ll never forget to wear her steel-toed boots in the lab again.” Remembering the thin purpose that brought her here, Yang held up the bag of delicious smelling food. “I got food from Calavera’s— I got you the halibut tacos again. And I’m pretty sure Maria didn’t put cilantro on them, even though she was fucking with me about it before I left…”

Blake cleared her sewing work off of the porch swing next to her, accidentally disturbing Shadow. The cat yawned and stretched before hopping down. She weaved a half hearted pass through Yang’s ankles before she caught sight of some invisible thing in the bushes beside the porch and sprang off into the shadows.

Yang settled on the now open seat, distributing the take-out. With a sidelong glance at Blake’s light-colored outfit, Yang handed her most of the wad of napkins from the bottom of the bag. The brunette laughed and carpeted her front with the thin bits of paper, tucking one into her collar for good measure.

“Knowing my luck, it’ll miss the napkins.”

Yang grinned, then took a bite of her own taco— carne asada, just a little bit spicy, tender and juicy from the marinade, slices of delicate avocado giving a texture contrast to the fresh corn tortilla, crunchy cabbage, and the pieces of meat. 

After a couple of minutes Blake looked up from her meal. She wiped her fingertips on one of the napkins, gathering her thoughts. “I know you said you had some things to tell me. I want to elaborate on what I told you too. Would it make it easier if I went first?”

A bite of taco paused, halfway to Yang’s mouth. Her tongue felt suddenly dry. She regretted not getting some sodas too, though they would have been impossible to transport on the bike. Clearing her throat, Yang leaned back in the bench seat, gazing distractedly out at the small garden. She could hear Shadow rustling through the wet grass over by the fence. Crickets, a quiet chorus heralding the imminent arrival of summer, had started to sing as soon as the sun dipped close to the horizon.

“No, I think I need to go first. It’ll be too hard for me to start otherwise. I just need a glass of water.” She wrapped up the rest of her tacos, returning them to the bag by her feet. She wasn’t hungry anymore. Just as well, too, anxiety made her nauseated.

Blake nodded sympathetically. “I can get one for you?”

“No, I think I know where everything is. You should finish your tacos before they get cold.”

As she watched the steady stream from the tap slowly fill her glass, Yang scrambled to get a grasp on what she wanted to say. There was so much, too much for one conversation. And yet, there was so little she had ever discussed with anyone before. 

After the accident, the hospital-provided shrink had done everything in his power to tempt words out of Yang’s unyielding mouth. She had clenched her teeth until her jaw ached, spending each hour-long appointment memorizing the outdated geometric pattern of his carpet and the titles of the books on the shelf behind his head. _Understanding When You Don’t Understand_ , _Post-Traumatic Stress in Adolescents_ , _Losing Time: PTSD and Memory Loss_ , the list went on and on. When she closed her eyes now, standing at the sink in Blake’s cheerful, brightly lit kitchen, she could see them as though they had been tattooed on her eyelids.

Her dad hadn’t had much more luck, and he was equally unsuccessful in getting her to return to the psychiatrist’s office after the first couple of painfully silent appointments. She told him she didn’t have anything to say— what she meant was, she didn’t want to waste any more of his money on copays for something that she knew wasn’t going to work. Layers of guilt plastered her like paint on the walls of a very old house, never peeled up, one slapped on top of the other and all of them smothering her under their leaden weight.

Ruby had been harder. She had always known what to say to get Yang to talk, even if it was just needling Yang until she snapped and yelled at Ruby to _leave her the fuck alone!_ But Ruby didn’t leave her alone, she pestered and pestered until Yang knew she had, if not the whole story, the basic shape of what had happened that night. As much as Yang could remember, maybe more than that. Ruby also tried to get her to go back to the psychiatrist, or if not that one then maybe they could find one that worked better for her. 

Ruby had done her research, expanding her encyclopedic knowledge into the realm of traumatic brain injury, post-traumatic stress, and anxiety disorders. Yang knew it was her sister’s way of dealing with a situation in which she felt powerless, but gods was it annoying. There were times she wished she could drown them all out, run out of the house into the night and never come back to this smothering cloud of concern that constantly surrounded her…

The water in her glass overflowed, startling her back to reality. She turned off the tap and took a long drink from the glass. She knew what she wasn’t ready to tell Blake, but she needed to tell her something. Whenever she looked into the trust in those clear gold eyes, she felt the monsters that she had fought so hard to deny begin to claw their way once more out of the abyss of her soul. It wasn’t a question of _if_ she would open up to Blake, it was a matter of _when_ and _how_. And if she wanted to have any sort of control over it, she had better start letting off the pressure as soon as possible.

When she stepped back out on the porch, Yang saw that Blake had pulled the fabric she had been working on back into her lap and was now fiercely inspecting the minute detail of one embroidered petal. She glanced up, smiling at Yang and shifting the fabric off of the seat next to her once more. 

Yang didn’t sit down. She paced to the edge of the porch, leaning against one of the elegantly lathed posts that supported the roof. There was still a rim of orange in the western sky, but moths fluttered their tiny soft bodies against the uncaring glass of the illuminated porch light.

Where to start... Might as well go back to the beginning. “Summer was the best mom in the whole world. She never treated me differently, even though I wasn’t her real kid. She was fun and kind and so fucking smart. I thought she was invincible, and I’m sure Ruby did too. Ruby looks so much like her, I know that’s why dad pulled away so much after Summer died. I was still a kid myself, and Ruby was in elementary school and suddenly I was the glue that was holding the whole dysfunctional lot of us together. So I guess it’s not all that surprising that I turned into a complete teenage monster in high school.” She exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding in, leaning hard on the post. “When I had the chance to get to know Raven, my biological mother, it was like my dreams came true. But reality always has a way of slipping in through the cracks. I would have done anything for her, and I guess the most fucked up thing is that she let me.”

“I thought the worst part of the accident was the damage to my arm. It took months to heal from the surgery they did on it— surgeries plural, actually, since they rebuilt it immediately after and then they had to go in and rebreak it and put in the metal rod to support it.” The words came easier if she looked out at the garden, watching the shadows rise among the new spring growth. The garden was peaceful, and that peace kept her voice steady even as she wanted to crawl out of her own skin and run weeping from this house and this woman who cared for her. “That definitely hurt the worst, and for the longest. The road rash took a while to heal too, and the concussion… I still have a hard time remembering words sometimes, and it’s so damn frustrating.”

A deep breath, a plunge onward into the dark waters of uncertainty. “The worst part, though, was how everyone treated me after. It was like they thought I might break at any moment. And the fact was, I did break. Over and over and over again. I don’t think I had a single conversation with my dad that didn’t end with one of us yelling or crying for at least a year after. And Ruby, fuck, she’d look at me with those great big silver eyes of hers and all I could see was the little kid I looked out for all of those years. I used to be invincible to her. I’m not invincible anymore.” She sipped the water, trying to calm the frantic pounding of blood in her ears. 

“I was going way too fast on a bike in weather conditions I wasn’t familiar with. And…I was carrying something that would have put me away for a very long time. The only reason I didn’t get locked up was that my mom—“ Yang grimaced, correcting herself, “ _Raven_ told Shay and the guys to keep going. As far as I know, she stuck around just until she saw the lights of the ambulance, and then she left too, with the...package. As far as anyone could tell she was a concerned motorist with an aversion to law enforcement.”

She chanced a glance in Blake’s direction. The other woman was still as a stone, her expression attentive, sympathetic, but not pitying. Yang’s walls crumbled further, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Blake waited as Yang collected herself to continue. “The cops did have some questions for me, but they had to wait until the doctors thought it was safe for me to talk to anyone at all. I didn’t have anything for them anyway. Even if I’d wanted to talk, I didn’t remember anything about what had happened that night, or even the whole week before. It took years for me to piece it all together from the random flashes of memory that came back. I still don’t have all of it. Part of the healing process I guess.” She drained the glass, setting it down on the porch railing. “Anyway, that’s why I know about panic attacks. Ruby talked me down too many fucking times. Pyrrha too. And I know about night terrors. My brain can be my own worst enemy.”

Blake sat still for a few very long minutes. Finally, she picked up the fabric in her lap and started to stitch once more. After pulling the thread taut in a small, nearly invisible knot, she snipped the tail neatly and then looked back up at Yang. “She just left you there? Lying in the road?”

It took Yang a moment to untangle Blake’s meaning. “Yeah, she did. That’s the last time I ever saw her.”

Blake nodded slowly, her gaze unfocused like she was working out a particularly difficult calculation in her mind. “So, when you said you haven’t talked to your mom in a while…”

“It’s because of the accident. Well, the accident and other stuff too, but mostly the accident. She wasn’t exactly mother of the year before that, case in point she left dad and me while I was still a baby.”

Blake narrowed her eyes, her expression abstract but distantly angry. Not at Yang, certainly, but at the people in Yang’s past who left her bleeding on the side of the road to save their own skins. Her grip tightened around her sewing scissors until her knuckles were white.

Yang returned to the swing, sitting down next to Blake and tentatively reaching out to loosen her grip on the scissors. She pulled the delicate tool free from the other woman’s now-unresisting grasp, placing them back into the sewing basket at their feet before lacing her fingers between Blake’s. She gave their conjoined hands a gentle squeeze.

“That was three years ago. I still go to physical therapy once a month to make sure I’m not undoing all of the hard work the doctors put into my arm. It was hard, it _is_ hard, but I think I’m doing better now than I was. I just wanted you to know what you were getting into, I guess. So that we can… work together.”

The night deepened and the streetlights flickered on as they sat, side by side, clasped hands anchoring each of them as they drifted on the currents of their own thoughts. As the dew rose, bringing a chill to the air, Blake disappeared inside momentarily and returned with the soft blue and white blanket that Yang had seen in a basket by the back door. They snuggled together under it, Blake tucking her legs up under herself and nestling herself against the warm curve of Yang’s side.

“I knew I had to get out long before Adam tried to kill me.” The words were quiet, but Blake’s voice was steady. Yang’s arm, wrapped securely around Blake’s slim shoulders, tightened reflexively, as though she could protect the other woman from the violence of those words through sheer force of will. Blake continued. “He was getting more and more paranoid. He started locking me in our bedroom when he wasn’t in the house. He saw infidelity and treason in everything I did. Everyone I talked to either wanted to fuck me or was telling me terrible things about him. Or I was telling them all of his secrets. He shouted, he… hit me.” Her voice trembled for a moment and she paused, then continued with renewed certainty. 

“The last night we were having dinner with some of his… I can’t call them friends, Adam doesn’t have friends. His lackeys, I guess, or his acolytes. The ones he tolerated enough to have around for longer than ten minutes. I don’t remember what I said— maybe I complimented one of them or mentioned a shared acquaintance. Whatever it was, Adam exploded. He told them all to leave, he cornered me in the dining room. He always carried this balisong with him, holstered to his wrist. So stupid… He liked how flashy it was. I bought it for him, an anniversary present. There was a red enamel rose inset into the handle.”

Crickets, a car passed by on the street. Wind tousled the leaves of the elm tree, sounding almost like waves on a sandy shore. Yang pulled the blanket up tighter around them, resisting the urge to shiver. She wasn’t cold, not physically, but the matter-of-fact way that Blake was speaking chilled her to the bone.

“I remember thinking about the shop where I bought the knife as I watched the blade disappear into my belly. I remembered how much time I’d spent, picking out the weapon that would kill me. Because I knew, in that moment, that I was going to die.” A pause, more measured inhales and exhales. “Something in me shattered. It was like there was a part of me that had always stepped back whenever Adam’s demons came out, and it wasn’t stepping back any more. There was this wood carving on the side table— he liked having Menagerie art around. I hit him with it and I ran. I must have screamed, maybe when he stabbed me, maybe when I swung the statue at his head. Ilia was on door duty, a couple of his guys hadn’t made it all the way out yet. They came running, saw me bleeding, saw Adam swearing and coming after me. Ilia grabbed me and bolted. I was in and out at that point, so much blood loss and pain. She got me into one of the cars and headed straight for the nearest hospital. She must have called the cops while she was driving, because there were cars all over the ER when we got there. I think she told them she’d give them everything she had on Adam if they got there before he did.”

It was _so_ much. Yang’s head spun as she tried to take in this new information about the gentle, sarcastic woman she had only just begun to know. 

“You’ve got to understand, they’d been trying to get something, anything, on Adam for years at that point. He was… He thought of himself as a revolutionary. The rest of the world thought of him as a terrorist, or a kingpin, or both. Maybe the ideologies were all true, maybe none of them were true. When I saw him, when I really saw him, he was a scared little boy in a man’s body, trying to be the person he thought the world wanted him to be. That’s probably why it took me so long to leave. I was still in love with the person he could have been.” Blake shuddered then, burrowing down into the cocoon of the blanket until only her eyes were visible over its tasseled edge.

The night was busy and uncaring around them. Time barreled on, quite oblivious to the turmoil of the two women huddled together on the porch swing. It could have been a few minutes, it could have been an hour, but their shared reverie was finally fractured by the reappearance of Shadow. The little creature leapt to the porch rail, considering the humans with the alien intelligence of the semi-feral housecat. Deeming their concerns trivial, Shadow hopped down and padded to the door, gave one imperious yowl, and vanished through the cat flap.

“She says it’s time for her dinner.” Blake’s voice was gravelly with the weight of unspoken emotion. 

“So you speak cat too? Are there any other closet skeletons or hidden talents you want to get off your chest while we’re being so open with each other?”

Yang’s attempt at humor sounded thin and forced, but it brought a smile to Blake’s face regardless. She hesitated, then leaned up to press a soft, chaste kiss to Yang’s cheek. Then she stood, gathered up the wrappers and napkins from their forgotten dinner, and followed the cat into the house. 

Inside, Yang could hear the rising and falling of Blake’s voice as she talked to the little cat, the whirring of an electric can opener, the bell-like sound of a spoon against a porcelain dish. The subtle aroma of jasmine, spices, and vanilla hung in the air, and the spot on her cheek that Blake had kissed moments before still felt the warmth of her lips. Yang stood, steadying herself against the railing as her traitorous knees trembled beneath her.

They had talked. The earth had not split beneath their feet and swallowed them up, the sky hadn’t broken and rained lightning and fury upon them. In the distance of the city a siren wailed. 

It hadn’t been everything, not from Blake and certainly not from her. But it had been something, and that was a damn good start.

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ART CORNER:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR’S NOTES:  
> -Another opportunity to throw more delightful characters into the mix. Professor Peter Port teaches GenEd courses on history and social studies at Beacon Polytech. Calavera’s is a perfect place for Fox to work— after Maria lost almost all of her eyesight at an early age, she has been passionate about accessibility in employment. They bitch at each other, but Fox and Maria have a very strong friendship.  
> -No one believes that Sun actually knows Kung Fu, but in this case he’s not exaggerating. He grew up in and out of a shaolin temple in Vacuo.  
> -Can you tell that I miss good tacos? There’s only one place in this tiny town on an island in Alaska that makes decent Mexican food, and they don’t really do street tacos. Until the times of plague leave our lands and travel is no longer life-threatening, I will have to make do with the tacos I make myself. Which are damn good, but they don’t have anything on what I could get down south…  
> -Spoops is working on a fic that will fill in the blanks here, as well as building up a little more of the history of team STRQ. I will link to it when it’s live. :)  
> -So much Yangst. So much Bl-ache. You have to reopen old wounds to drain the poison out, but GODS I hate writing my girls in pain. There are some chapters that just take a lot out of me to write— this was definitely one of those chapters.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After their important conversation, Blake and Yang do some soul searching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RECOMMENDED LISTENING:  
> -“Gold Rush”, Taylor Swift

Listen to the Spotify playlist (curated by the author’s wife, @spoopsboops) [HERE](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0NAkxw0y9KBjkbqX3Yum36?si=F0JnjDVrSoG3dLea7EAGbQ).

Follow on Tumblr and Instagram @probably_momo, for art and writing updates.

______________________________________________________________

After about ten minutes, Yang pushed away from the porch railing and wandered over to pick up the blanket off of the swing. Wearing the throw blanket like a robe, Yang stepped into the kitchen, blinking at the bright light after the dim twilight of the porch.

Blake’s back was to her, the splashing and clinking painting a picture of the industry of her hands. Yang approached Blake from behind, swooping in and wrapping the other woman close in her arms and the folds of the blanket. Blake tensed for a second, and then melted against her, resting her head back against Yang’s chest. She had been washing a dish in the sink, probably Shadow’s from the pattern of fish skeletons painted around its rim. She let it slip the short distance from her fingers to the counter, dreamily drying her hands on her skirt.

“How are you doing?” A self-conscious shrug of Blake’s shoulder. “I feel like I just ran from here to campus and back, all trembly and uncertain.” 

Yang _hmm_ ’d in response, rubbing her cheek against the silky softness of Blake’s hair. She could feel an answering shakiness in her own limbs, but it was balanced by the warm contentment in her belly.

“Do you— Are you— would you like to stay over tonight?” Blake’s words were halting, awkward, and heart-wrenchingly sincere. Yang’s arms around her tightened and Blake puffed out an exhale mixed with a laugh. 

Nuzzling her face into the warm, sweet-smelling crook of Blake’s neck and her shoulder, Yang hummed in contentment. “I’d love to. Thank you. I don’t know why I’m so tired— it’s not even that late.”

It was unclear which of them started the movement or if it just emerged organically from the aura of comfort surrounding them, but together they began to sway, a slow not-quite-dance in the quiet of the kitchen. Blake’s feet were bare and Yang’s riding boots gave her another inch on the slender woman, the height disparity making her feel like she could wrap her whole self around Blake and protect her from the world. 

They stayed, enveloped in soft tenderness, for a long span of minutes. Then an amused, charmed voice startled them from their reverie. “Well, this is super cute. I wish I had my scroll on me, I’d take a picture.” 

The two women sprung apart as though someone had dumped ice water on them. Startled into annoyance, Yang glared around for the inconvenient audience to their moment. Her fiery gaze pinned Neptune to the wall. “The hell, dude? What do you want?”

“Ultimately? For someone to hold me like that— that looked nice. But I really just came in to grab an energy drink.” Unphased by Yang’s ire, the blue-haired man sauntered over to the refrigerator and pulled the door open.

Blake grimaced in irritation, punching her housemate lightly in the shoulder. “I’m sure Sun wouldn’t mind, if you asked really nicely.” She threw over her shoulder as she headed back out on the porch. Yang could see her bending to gather abandoned sewing supplies through the glass of the door.

“I wouldn’t mind what now?” Came the bewildered call from the living room.

Yang’s vexation turned to amusement as she noticed the red glow Blake’s comment brought to Neptune’s ears. She gave him a slug of her own, decidedly less gentle. “If you can’t handle the heat…”

He snorted, throwing her a disdainful glare as he grabbed what he had come in for and closed the door with somewhat more force than was entirely necessary. “Puns and violence are the refuge of those with small wit.”

He sounded so wounded and posh that Yang laughed out loud. She remarked in an undertone, with a nod towards the door. “Don’t let Blake hear you say that— I’m pretty sure she can kick your ass three ways to Sunday.” She carefully folded the blanket into a lopsided rectangle, dropping it on the table as Blake returned with her sewing basket in hand. 

Yang followed Blake out of the kitchen and up the stairs, a bounce in her step. Her heart felt light, lighter than it had in months. Hell, in years. How could one conversation make so much of a difference? It’s not like she had told Blake everything, but she had told her more than she’d told anyone else. It was insane, it was dangerous, it was just fucking _right_.

Blake had left the door at the top of the stairs open, and Yang hesitated slightly in the doorframe. The room looked so different with the lights on— and without the fog of desire clouding her vision and her mind. The furniture was mismatched, but in a charmingly intentional way. They were obviously carefully chosen thrift store and garage sale finds. Most of Yang’s furniture in her dorm was flatpack, matching only because it was convenient to buy them all at once. 

There were plants everywhere, on shelves, tucked into corners, viney tendrils trained over edges to cascade in frozen falls of emerald. Blake was perched on the corner of her sofa, adjusting the sculpture of branches made by a wizened bonsai pine.

“Wow. I love it up here.”

Blake chuckled. “You’ve been here before, silly.”

“I wasn’t exactly admiring the interior decorating last time.” Yang crossed the floor to the couch, bending down to peer at what Blake’s busy hands were up to. “What are you doing to it?”

A small pair of golden-handled snips flashed, lopping off new buds of growth from the perimeter of the tree. “I got side-tracked— I realized I hadn’t given this old gentleman proper attention in a few weeks and he was getting delusions of grandeur.” _Clip, clip_ , a few more tufts of needles fell to the side table on which the long, low pot rested. Blake set the snips aside, gave the tiny tree an affectionate stroke, then gathered up the clippings.

“I was going to take a bath but,” She yawned widely, muffling her open mouth with the back of her hand. “I think I’ll wait until tomorrow. I’m exhausted.” Blake stood from the couch, giving Yang a small, affectionate smile. “I have to work tomorrow morning, but I’ll be home by one. If you don’t have anything to do, you can stay here.” She bumped Yang with her shoulder in an offhandedly fond manner as she went into the little bathroom, flicking on the light and dropping the gathered plant bits into the wastebasket by the toilet. 

“I don’t really have anything planned tomorrow. It’ll be nice to sleep in.” Yang tucked her hands into her pockets. She could feel awkward, standing in the bedroom of a new lover with no plans on the table other than a quiet settling into slumber together, but she didn’t. It was a bit of a novelty, but it was a testament to the ease of Blake’s company that Yang just felt cozy and welcome. 

“I think I have some pajamas that might fit you.” Blake had left the bathroom and was rifling through her dresser. She surfaced with a small cry of victory, holding up a bundle of soft flannel and a tank top. “Here you go. You can use the bathroom first. I think there’s a spare toothbrush in the vanity if you want it.” Blake dropped her gaze at the implication of the offered toothbrush, looking momentarily unsure.

Accepting the offered garments, Yang crowded in close once more, wrapping her arms easily around the other woman’s waist. “Thanks, my breath is probably all onions and cumin.”

The aroma that accompanied that statement made Blake’s nose wrinkle distastefully. “And cilantro— I was going to kiss you, but now I’m having second thoughts.”

In defiance of Blake’s disgust, Yang swooped in to plant a big, noisy kiss on one soft golden cheek, then rapidly retreated to the bathroom to avoid the barrage of outraged exclamations from the brunette. As she closed the door something soft connected with the wood, probably a pillow. Laughter bubbled unbidden from within her, echoed by similar amusement from Blake in the room beyond.

There was a toothbrush in the cupboard, shockingly pink and still in its plastic packaging. It definitely did not match the personality of either woman— Yang supposed it must have been purchased without much care towards its aesthetics. It was funny that a person who put so much care into her appearance and surroundings was so blasé about practical items. Busting into the brand new toothbrush, Yang mused that she should replace it. Probably with one that was even more audacious than this one.

Blake took over the bathroom when Yang was done, and the blonde plopped down onto the bed to wait. The other woman had a much more extensive night time ritual than Yang’s tooth brushing and perfunctory splashing of tap water on her face. She pulled her wild blonde hair over one shoulder, plaiting it into a loose braid that she fixed with a sparkly black hair tie swiped off of the bedside table. Leaning back on the soft pillow, Yang half-listened to the quiet sounds of Blake getting ready for bed. 

She must have dozed off, because the dipping of the other side of the mattress startled her back into wakefulness. Blake’s nightwear of choice was a long t-shirt that hung to her thighs and a pair of boy shorts that looked unfairly good on the enticing curves of her ass. If they both weren’t so tired, Yang would have certainly needed a closer inspection of the fit of those shorts. 

“Oh man, I’m never going to be able to wear that shirt again.” Blake’s gaze was half-bemused, half-appreciative, and was fixed on Yang's chest. The limits of the top were being tested by the fullness of Yang's bust, even after she had abandoned the confines of her bra. 

Flushing sheepishly, Yang flashed the other woman a crooked smile. “Sorry about that.”

“I’m definitely not.” Snuggling down into the sheets, Blake stretched out an arm in a clear invitation to cuddle. 

Yang didn’t need any additional prompting. She tucked herself up against Blake, reveling in the warmth and comfort of the moment. Unselfconsciously, Blake curled forward in a clear invitation for a kiss, which Yang answered with a smiling-soft press of lips. The soft rumble that came unbidden to her throat in sheer happiness startled her slightly, but the answering intonation from Blake melted her into the mattress. They mingled breaths, explored with tentative touch, and nuzzled reconnections as one would start to pull away. Finally they broke apart, two sets of eyes half-lidded in peaceful joy. Yang stifled a sudden yawn of her own, trying not to exhale widely into the face of her bedmate. 

Blake had shut off most of the lights before she joined Yang in bed, but she had to stretch to the full extent of her arm to reach the switch that controlled the fairy lights over the bed without disturbing her. As darkness enfolded them she curled back in, nuzzling her face into the hair of Yang’s crown. 

Yang fell asleep to the delicate symphony of Blake’s soft breath.

______________________________________________________________

Waking up in Blake’s bed was a much less anxiety-provoking experience the second time around. The pillow next to her was cold, but it held onto the delicate scent of flowers and spices that was so distinctly Blake. Through the skylight Yang could see the spreading branches of the backyard elm and the piling of grey clouds that predicted a drizzly, cool day. A perfect day to do fuckall.

Checking the time on her scroll, Yang was greeted by a series of unread texts from Blake.

**:Blake: Good morning! Feel free to take a shower, my shampoo and conditioner should be in there. Clean towels are under the sink.**

**:Blake: OH also there are croissants in the breadbox in the kitchen! Help yourself.**

**:Blake: I should be back by 1:30.**

Rolling back into the middle of the bed, Yang starfished her limbs out and reveled in the comfort of the mattress and the soft cotton of the sheets. Her stretching disturbed Shadow, who had been curled up at the foot of the bed. The cat gave a disgruntled trill and jumped to the ground, stalking with noble disdain out of the room.

“Sorry about that.” Yang called softly after the departing cat. She checked her scroll again, this time actually registering the time on the screen— 8:30am. Much earlier than she usually woke up naturally, but they had gone to bed very early the night before. 

**:Yang: thx**

**:Yang: just woke up, ur bed is super comfy**

She reluctantly extracted herself from the blankets and ambled into the bathroom. A shower sounded like a fantastic idea. Yang found the towels right where Blake had said they would be, and, after momentarily dousing herself in scalding then freezing water, she figured out the optimum settings for the separate hot and cold water taps. 

The shower was short and superficial, but it woke Yang up and made her feel a little more put-together. She pulled the pajamas back on, and then, to keep her wet hair off of her neck, piled it in a messy bun. She peeked out through the shades in the bathroom as she brushed her teeth, looking out into the side yard and into the neighbors garden. A pleasant looking elderly woman was trimming rose bushes along the fence.

No sounds of activity carried up the stairs, so Yang walked as lightly as possible on her way down to the kitchen. If no one else in the house was awake yet, she was not going to be the reason that they came down to pester her about what had or hadn’t happened the night before. Sun reminded her of a testosterone-fueled color swap of her sister, and Neptune was the bro-est of bros who ever bro-ed. She had never met Blake’s elusive third roommate, but she was pretty sure she was happy keeping it that way.

Down in the kitchen Yang quickly found the promised croissants. She also made a very pleasant discovery— in the week and a half between her last visit and this one, a pour over setup had appeared magically in one corner of the kitchen counter. There were filters and a little silver foil bag of fresh ground coffee as well. After wracking her brain for other explanations, the only one she returned to again and again was the simplest… It had been purchased to provide fresh coffee to the only person in the house who drank fresh coffee. Her. 

Contemplatively, Yang filled the chrome kettle and set it on the stove to come to a boil. She dosed three heaping tablespoons of the aromatic grounds, obviously freshly purchased, into a paper filter nestled in the ceramic bowl of the pour-over cone. She found a mug and a small plate for her croissant, somehow feeling that her normal inclination to eat the pastry straight out of her hand would be indecorous in this quiet, elegant house. 

The water came to a boil and was poured in a slow, silver arc over the grounds. The steam that arose smelled halfway to heaven. It was almost torturous, waiting for the life-giving liquid to finish filtering through the grounds and dripping down into her cup. Finally, mug in one hand, croissant in the other, Yang migrated over to the little kitchen table to have a quiet breakfast by herself,

Yang had just finished her croissant and was starting to think longingly of the other one, still in the breadbox on the counter, when her solitude was interrupted by the entrance of the last person Yang had hoped to see this morning.

Scarlet, clad in red silk boxers and a threadbare plaid bathrobe that looked to have been borrowed from someone with much wider shoulders, sloped into the kitchen with all of the elegant dishevelment of a hungover debutant. Yang froze, coffee cup halfway to her mouth, eyes on the redhead as he busied himself with the kettle and a tin of loose leaf tea. 

She was starting to seriously consider army crawling to the hallway and dashing up the stairs when Scarlet, turning to grab a mug out of the cupboard by the sink, finally caught sight of her. If questioned later, he would certainly deny the high-pitched yelp that escaped his throat. There was nothing to be done for the mug, however. Gravity did its work and the ceramic shattered into dagger-shards on the floor. 

Yang leapt up, eyes wide. “Holy shit!”

In the same breath, Scarlet gasped out. “What the HELL are you doing here?!” He clutched the bathrobe closed at his throat like a distraught housewife, glaring indignantly at the woman.

“Blake said there was coffee and pastries down here, I didn’t know I had to get it cleared by committee!”

They stared at each other, chests heaving and pride mutually and painfully bruised. Yang could almost see his metaphorical feathers flattening slowly, though the haughty glare did not change. “Good gods damn, woman, you scared the shit out of me. Why didn’t you say anything when I came in?”

“I didn’t know what to say. You were kind of in your own little world there.”

He scoffed lightly, but the wry twist to his mouth betrayed his acknowledgment of the fact. His eyes settled on the unbroken cup in Yang’s hands. “Is that actual coffee?”

Yang reluctantly made another pour-over as Scarlet cleaned up the shattered porcelain (“Neptune’s going to be pissed, that was his favorite tiki mug.”), and they made it through the motions of awkward reintroduction. 

“Coco said they saw you at the studio the other day. I didn’t know that fashion was your thing.”

Yang ignored the opening he gave for her to justify her interest in Blake, and the dig at her perceived lack of style— it wasn’t any of his business. But the Coco connection wasn’t one she would have made without his input. It shouldn’t have been surprising that the information had travelled, but it still caught her off guard. “What can I say? I’m a helpful kind of person.”

“Mmmmhmmmm.” He sipped the coffee she had made for him, eyes narrowed at her over the top of the mug.

The queer community at Beacon was not overly huge, and Scarlet and Yang had orbited in similar social spheres for the last couple of years. It was likely that they had been introduced at some point during that time; maybe at a hazy, half-remembered house party, or in passing from a friend of a friend. Yang didn’t appreciate presumptions made by someone who barely knew her. The judgement of this almost complete stranger chafed her nerves.

She set her cup down on the counter, squaring off towards him and crossing her arms over her chest. “Look, I don’t know you. You don’t know me. And you really don’t seem to know Blake as well as you seem to think you do. Whatever is going on between us doesn’t concern you.” Her tone and her level, serious gaze challenged him to disagree.

Scarlet didn’t rise to her tone, just took another long sip from his coffee with an almost bored expression on his face. “Sweetie, in general I’d say that I don’t give a fuck who you stick your proverbial dick into. But though I may neither have had the opportunity nor inclination to have a sultry liaison with our dear Blake, I’ve lived with her for a year and a half and, gods help me, I actually do give a shit about her wellbeing and happiness. Shocking, I know.” He opened the breadbox and, to Yang’s irritation, snagged the remaining croissant. Taking a large bite, he turned to walk out of the room. Over his shoulder, slightly muffled by the pastry in his mouth, he gave his parting shot. “I’m just letting you know, people around her are aware of your tendencies. If you hurt her and leave her broken, there will be consequences. Have a nice morning.”

Yang waited until she heard the sound of a door closing on the second floor before she let all of her reserved anger bleed out. When she was younger she would have exploded, bruising hands and bloodying knuckles against the nearest available hard surface. Thankfully she had done a good deal of growing since that time, but she did clench her fists so hard she could feel the blunt half-moons of her fingernails cutting into the calluses on her palms.

Inhale. Exhale. Release the tension, push the complicated flames of hurt disguised as frustration and guilt disguised as outrage down deep into the well of her emotions until she was numb and grey. She turned the burner under the kettle back on and went through the motions of setting up another filter with coffee over her mug.

The doubts she had managed to drown the day before, when she and Blake had shared a time of true vulnerability and honesty, were trying to burrow their way back into her awareness. Yang could feel those doubts trying to edit her narrative, changing the reality that she held as truth.

“Well, that was really harsh.” Sun was leaning against the kitchen doorframe, looking back down the hallway to the staircase. He stuffed his hands into the front pocket of the oversized sweatshirt which, paired with long flannel pants, made up what must have been his sleeping ensemble. His hair was flat on one side and standing straight up in the middle like a rooster comb, but his expression was sympathetic. 

“He’s not wrong. I do have a shitty reputation, and I’ve definitely done enough to deserve it.” Yang poured boiling water over her second round of coffee grounds, then reached for the cabinet to pull another mug down. If she made coffee for Scarlet she might as well make some for Sun too— at least Sun seemed to like her. 

Sun joined her at the counter, reaching up into the cupboard over the tea to grab a few packets of instant milk coffee. He accepted the mug from Yang with a warm smile and a nod.

“My mama used to say, if you don’t have anything nice to say, just shut the fuck up. And, if it makes you feel any better, Scarlet’s like that with everyone. He only lives here because he and Neptune basically grew up together.” He shrugged. “I think you’re doing your best to do right by Blake, and that’s awesome. Whatever ends up happening with you, you are doing it honestly. It’s a rare thing. Buuuuut that’s just my opinion.” 

His expression was so open and boyish, Yang couldn’t help but reach over and ruffle his sleep-styled mop of hair. He flailed at her, squawking a protest about his ‘do, but his words had calmed the turmoil of her spirit. “Thanks man. Your mama sounds like a smart lady.”

“She can’t be too smart, she hasn’t disowned me yet.” Sun slopped still-steaming water into his mug over his instant coffee powder, stirring vigorously with a spoon. “Anyway, what are you up to for the rest of the morning? I don’t have to go anywhere until 2, and I have the original Super Smash Brothers if you’re interested.”

Resisting the urge to ruffle his hair again, Yang settled for lightly slapping his shoulder. “You’re on. But don’t think I’ll go easy on you.”

“I would be offended if you did.” He snagged a box of Lucky Charms off of the top of the fridge and led the way to the living room.

______________________________________________________________

The morning was busy, so busy that Blake didn’t get to consider a break until eleven when the morning rush had died away. She yanked Neptune away from the pretty sophomores he was chatting up while he was supposed to be wiping down the tables in the lobby, told him to watch the front, and retreated into the back room to drink a soy chai and read her text messages in peace. 

She had her scroll in her pocket (on silent mode) all morning, and the occasional buzzes of text messages had been making her antsy. She slid the screen open and keyed in her passcode, jumping straight to the messaging app. 

There were several unread messages from Yang and a few from Ilia. Blake had texted her friend while opening the shop that morning, brain still buzzing with the conversation of the night before and completely forgetting that Ilia had probably only gotten to bed an hour or two prior after closing the bar. 

Feeling slightly guilty, Blake opened Yang’s texts first. They were time stamped 8:30am.

**:Yang: thx**

**:Yang: just woke up, ur bed is super comfy**

Then, an hour and a half later—

 **:Yang:** **scarlet is a total dickhead, but sun’s cool. We’re playing super smash bros and he’s not even mad that im kicking his ass**

Oh fuck. Scarlet must have rolled in sometime after the two of them had gone to bed the night before. Blake hadn’t even considered the thought that Yang would have to deal with him, let alone by herself and first thing in the morning. She groaned, pressing the heel of her palm into her eye socket. A shadow of a tension headache flared, and that was the last thing she needed. Blake hunted around in her purse for the little bottle of emergency ibuprofen, popping a couple with a swig of hot chai. Then she fired off a message apologizing for whatever Scarlet had inflicted upon Yang. 

She flipped back to check Ilia’s texts.

3:45am

**:Ilia: whatsfsdgsddg**

10:15am

**:Ilia: I think I meant to type ‘what’s up’, but I was asleep at the time so I can’t be sure**

**:Ilia: I’ll be at the gym for the next hour, but if you want to call me after that would be cool.**

Based on that timeline, Ilia would probably be driving back from the boxing gym now. When Blake had asked her why she went to the one all the way across town, Ilia had shrugged noncommittally and said something about it being owned by a friend of a friend. She’d been going there almost as long as the two of them had been in Vale, so that probably meant it was someone who knew about her past connections and didn’t care. Which was a rather disturbing thought.

While the scroll rang, Blake traced the edge of her mug with a fingertip. She wasn’t sure what she even wanted to talk to Ilia about, she just knew she needed to reach out to her friend. Let her know that she had let someone in, or to see if Ilia disapproved of her letting her guard down, Blake wasn’t sure.

“So you told her about Adam, huh?”

“Hello to you too. I’m having a great morning, how is yours going? Good? Good.” A wry chuckle echoed through the earpiece and Blake had to smile. “Yeah, I told her about Adam. I thought I needed to, since this whole thing is going… Somewhere. I don’t know. Maybe I shouldn’t have…?” She trailed off, despising the uncertainty that brought the question to her lips.

Ilia hummed a confirmation, letting Blake know she had heard her as she gathered her thoughts to reply. “If you thought it was important, then it was important. No one else can tell you the right way to feel about your own experiences.” Road noises, the sound of a turn signal and then the groaning of the wheel as Ilia maneuvered her old Jeep. “I’m not some expert on this Blake. I’m just your friend, and I care about you. Obviously I don’t want to see you get hurt, but I also don’t want you to spend the rest of your life in stasis, afraid that you’re going to get hurt or you’re going to hurt someone else. That kind of doubt kills the soul.”

It was Blake’s turn to make an ambiguous non-verbal response. She knew Ilia was right, just as she knew that Ilia was speaking from personal experience as much as from her own intrinsic wisdom. What they’d survived together was more than could be expected of people twice their age, and it left its marks. This was often evident in Ilia’s tendency to gripe about the immaturity and impulsivity of the other bartenders at the Crow, and Blake’s inclination to stay in and read with her cat on Saturday nights. 

“Something Yang said yesterday… It’s stupid, but my brain got hung up on it and I haven’t been able to think about anything else all morning.” Hung up like a sweater on a loose nail, pulling strands of her focus out long and bunching up everything that came after into an almost unintelligible mess. “Don’t tease me about this. She said ‘in order for us to work together.’ I can’t for the life of me figure out what she meant by it, where the emphasis should be. ‘In order for us to _work_ together’, ‘in order for _us_ to work together’, or ‘in order for us to work _together’_ , it changes everything.” Blake pinched the bridge of her nose, up between her eyes. The tension headache was not going away, and the anxiety fluttering in her lungs and tingling her fingertips was not helping things.

The laugh that this sparked from Ilia seemed entirely unnecessary. Blake pouted into her chai. “It’s not funny. I’m being serious.”

“Oh Blakey— it’s funny _because_ you’re being serious. Dude, you can’t sit here and stress yourself to death over a throwaway phrase that, as far as I can tell, was about the farthest thing from important among everything you two discussed last night. If you want to know what she meant, you need to fucking ask her what she meant. Use your words, Blake. You’re not a psychic and wishing and worrying won’t turn you into one. Now, other than the mention of you ‘working together’, what else did she want to tell you last night?”

The version of Yang’s tale that Blake relayed was abridged, but it touched on the most cogent points. Blake didn’t feel like it was her place to talk about Summer, or to tell Ilia about how Yang’s back was stretched taut like a bowstring as she forced the words out of her mouth. Words couldn’t describe the protective arms around her as she revealed what she could of her own past, and it would be cruel to describe the heart-achingly sweet way that Yang curled into Blake’s chest, their breathing and heartbeats falling into rhythm as they fell asleep together. 

Blake talked about Yang’s accident, her fraught relationship with Raven, and her long and difficult recovery. She mentioned scars that mirrored her own, and the safety of being with someone who knew you had been hurt, but also knew your strength of endurance. “...Besides, I have been using my words, dammit. What else did I do for an hour last night??”

The snort in response was not flattering. “I’m sure you have. Tell me, have you told her you care about her, even once? I’m not saying you’ve got to drop the love bomb on this girl only a month out of the gate, but have you made an effort to put into words the connection you feel with her?”

Well, that put her on the spot. Blake hunted for some past utterance or action that would challenge Ilia’s intrinsic understanding of her personality. “I made her an omelette, and some cold brew. I got a whole coffee set up for the house, just in case she spent the night again!” It sounded like a lame response even as she said it, but it was honestly all she had.

“...And she took you on a delightfully well-planned last minute adventure to a magical garden, complete with a romantic picnic. She fixed your car, not just euphemistically. But it sounds like this Yang has done a whole lot more verbal acknowledgment of what’s going on between the two of you than you have. At some point you’re going to have to let yourself be emotionally vulnerable, not just about your past but about your present as well. Give her some kind of recognition, or she won’t know that the feelings between you two are mutual.”

“Do you really think that?... That there are mutual feelings?” Again, so vulnerable. So uncertain. Blake grimaced.

The tone of Ilia’s voice shifted from affectionately chiding to painfully kind. “Yeah, Blake. I do.”

Blake let out a long, quavery breath. At some point during the conversation she had curled forward into a protective ball, heels on the seat of her chair and knees brought to her chest, chin on her knees with her free arm hugging her legs tightly. She forced herself to unclench, stretching her legs out under the break room table, pointing and flexing her toes to return feeling back into her complaining ankles.

“Thanks Ilia. I guess I just… Need a kick in the ass sometimes. To see what’s right in front of me.”

“I’ll always try to be here, ass kicking shoes on and legs limber.” Forced humor— Ilia was hurting again. Before Blake had a chance to say anything more, her friend was ending the call with a steadfast, cheerful tone. “Let me know how today goes. We should try that restaurant on First Street that does Menagerie food some time this week.”

Agreeing to call later about meeting up to get dinner, Blake hung up. She took a long swig of her chai, which was now tepid and barely drinkable. In some ways, the talk with Ilia had helped; she had a much clearer idea of what she needed to do now, to move forward with this thing she had going on with Yang. 

But she knew for certain that she couldn’t keep bringing her burgeoning relationship troubles to Ilia. She’d seen it at the Crow Bar on trivia night, and the hurt disguised with forced cheer that ended this conversation had driven it home. Blake wouldn’t be the reason that Ilia’s tender heart never had a chance to heal.

She polished off the rest of her chai with a grimace, rinsed the cup and dropped it onto a sanitizer tray with other dirty dishes. Pulling her apron back on, she stepped back out onto the floor of the cafe to finish her shift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR’S NOTES:  
> -This was supposed to be a chapter of character exploration transitioning into soul-searchingly sincere sex. As usual, the character exploration took me a lot longer than I expected, so you will get your smut in the next chapter. Probably for the best, since the volume 8 hiatus will be over next weekend and we will need all of the good things we can get.  
> -Oh Neptune, if only there was someone who loved you. (There is someone, he’s in the next room licking Cool Ranch Dorito dust off of his fingers.)  
> -Blake is a good plant mom. Much better than your humble author, who tends to forget to water their babies until they’re wilted and shedding leaves…  
> -You’ve got a goddamn toothbrush at her house, but sure, you’re deeeefinitely not dating. *eyeroll*  
> -As a large-busted human I may have ruined more than my fair share of borrowed shirts. Apologies to my sister and Spoops, the main victims of this inadvertent crime.  
> -Isn’t it wonderful to have no plans on a gloomy day? Also, WHOLE BED is a glorious feeling.  
> -Scarlet’s philosophy: Your things are my things. My things are my things. Touch my clothes and I will end you, but Sun’s bathrobe is convenient and comfortable, therefore he will wear it.  
> -Coco and Scarlet are the best of frienemies, their relationship is sustained by mutual derision and gossip.  
> -Awww, Scarlet. For you, that’s kind of… sweet?  
> -Mama Wukong’s other colorful idioms include: “manners don’t cost anything, so don’t be a little shit” and “a measure of politeness is how you treat the bastards”.  
> -The unrequited love is honest, but GODS do I want Ilia to be happy. ;-;


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blake learns to let go and Yang catches her when she does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Implied past painful sex or sexual abuse. Not explicit or overt.
> 
> If you want to skip the NSFW section, you can leave off at the first page break and scroll down to the Author’s Notes for a recap.
> 
> RECOMMENDED LISTENING:  
> -“Man on the Moon”, Zella Day  
> -“Come Under the Covers”, WALK THE MOON  
> -“Flowers”, In Love with a Ghost
> 
> ((If you listen to any of the recommended listening, make it these songs. I love them all so much.))

Listen to the Spotify playlist (curated by the author’s wife, @spoopsboops) [HERE](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0NAkxw0y9KBjkbqX3Yum36?si=F0JnjDVrSoG3dLea7EAGbQ).

Follow on Tumblr and Instagram @probably_momo, for art and writing updates.

______________________________________________________________

When Blake stepped through the front door, she was definitely not expecting to be greeted by the sound of Yang gleefully shouting “EAT IT, BITCH!!!” over the soundtrack from Super Smash Brothers on full volume. 

Blake closed the door softly, though it was unlikely it would have been heard even if she had slammed it. She toed out of her sensible orthotic work shoes and walked on light stocking feet to peek around the doorframe into the living room.

Illuminated by the light from the TV, Yang was aggressively noogying Sun while he yelped and squirmed to get out of her grasp.

“Fuck yeah! I told you, it doesn’t matter if I play as Luigi I can still kick your ass!”

“Ouch, get off you gorilla woman! Fine, I bow to your excellence!” Sun wiggled loose from her hold, laughing and trying to straighten his mussed hair. 

Her target freed from her grasp, Yang stretched her arms out in front of herself, wiggling her fingers, then twisted the wrist of her rebuilt arm in her grasp. The joint popped gruesomely. 

Sun grimaced. “That can’t feel good, it sounds awful.”

“Actually it feels amazing, but my physical therapist gets pissed at me when I do it. For a while after my arm was rebuilt I couldn’t really play video games at all. It’s frustrating as hell.” The reminiscence seemed to come easier for Yang in this setting, like the informality of it soothed her. “I used to be able to beat Ruby nine times out of ten at Smash. Now it’s pretty much fifty-fifty, though if I’m being honest she wins a bit more often that I do. After the— after the surgery, she would let me win. That was the worst.”

Nodding sympathetically, Sun reached hesitantly for his abandoned controller. “Do you have one more match in you, or do you want to take a break? I promise I won’t take it easy on you.” His grin was mischievous.

If she didn’t announce her presence soon, it would be ages before they resurfaced. Blake cleared her throat. “I’m glad to see that you’re having fun.”

Two blonde heads swiveled in her direction, and the startled expressions on both faces were so similar she had to laugh. Game forgotten, Yang struggled out of the comfy depths of the big sofa and took a few hesitant steps towards Blake. She was still in the pajamas Blake had loaned her the night before, bare toes disappearing into the pile of the carpet. Yang flashed her the most heart-melting of bashful smiles, one hand coming up to absently rub the back of her neck. “Hey. How was work?”

“It was fine, but I could reeeaaally use a bath— Ciel dropped a gallon of mocha syrup on the floor and most of it ended up on me.” She indicated the splatters of dried chocolate sauce on her pants and her shirt sleeves. 

Yang took a few more steps, closing the distance between them. In an undertone, she murmured, “Oh… A bath sounds nice, actually.”

“On THAT note, I gotta go. I’m going to meet, uh, Neptune and Sage for lunch.” Sun patted Yang on the shoulder as he passed them to go upstairs— Yang flashed him a momentary worried glance, and then returned the reassuring grin he gave her. “I’m just going to go grab my sweatshirt and my wallet. Won’t take more than five minutes— if that mattered to anyone for… reasons.” He took the stairs two at a time, leaving the two women standing alone in the hallway.

“You did say something about me scrubbing your back the next time I stayed over here.” It was barely a whisper, only loud enough to reach Blake’s ears. Yang’s palms gently came to rest on Blake’s hips, violet gaze watching for her response. If all she wanted was a bath and someone to help her reach the bottoms of her shoulder blades, Blake knew she would have it.

But that wasn’t all she wanted.

Blake’s hands covered Yang’s, squeezing lightly. She bit her lip, suddenly feeling giddy, shy, breathless. “I would love it if you joined me. It’s an awfully big bathtub.”

With that affirmation, Yang closed the small distance between them. The height difference made kissing Yang a delightful challenge, though the taller woman always bent to meet her. Ilia was a few inches shorter than Blake, and Adam— she didn’t want to think about Adam, not while Yang was there, lips soft and sweet. The breaths they shared were infinite, joining and separating and joining again to explore some previously ignored corner of lip, a flash of tongues, a gentle pull of teeth.

A door on the second floor closed meaningfully, and they broke apart. 

“Yes indeed, I definitely need to go right now or I will be late!”

Blake giggled against Yang’s shoulder, ears and cheeks and neck red with embarrassment and the growing warmth within her.

“Dude, it’s fine. The coast is clear, or whatever.” Yang snugged Blake close with an arm around her waist, leaning casually against the doorframe as if she didn’t have a care in the world. As Sun trotted back down the stairs again, dressed in a pair of basketball shorts and a teal hoodie, Yang held out a fist. Sun bumped it with his own as he passed, winking cheerfully at Blake before he vanished out the front door.

Nuzzling into the sensitive spot behind Blake’s ear, Blake could feel Yang’s smile and hear her say, “He’s a good guy. A good friend.”

The ghost of breath against that surprisingly tender skin made Blake squirm delightfully in Yang’s grip. Not to get away or stop the sensation, but reflexively, as though her body didn’t quite know what to do with the sensory feedback loop the feeling caused her. She pressed further against Yang, letting the other woman take more of their combined weight against the doorframe. She wanted— no, she _needed_ — to be closer to Yang, but unhelpful things like _clothes_ were getting in the way.

Yang chuckled softly, then lightly pushed Blake back so that she could get her feet under her. “Lead the way, babe.”

Not for the first time Blake was struck by the rough honey tone of Yang’s voice, reaching deep down inside of her to tangle her into knots. Blake caught Yang’s hand and walked hesitantly towards the stairs, glancing over her shoulder to make sure that the blonde was following her. Yang kept pace, step for step, her expression relaxed but focused with an undercurrent of thrumming joy. 

______________________________________________________________

She could have climbed the stairs in her sleep any other day, but, as it was, she stumbled twice as they went. Both times Yang steadied her, murmuring encouragement, and, after a brief pause, they continued. Up into her room, the blue-grey tint to the light and the pattering against the skylights telling her that the light mist that was falling when she had parked her car had graduated into full blown rain. It was a kind rain, the sort that caressed newly opened leaves and blossoms, and gently permeated tender roots that hunted through dark soil.

When they both were inside, Yang dropped Blake’s hand and turned to close the door behind them. Then she stepped up next to Blake, tilting her head to gaze purposefully into Blake’s eyes.

“I know what I want, and I think I know what you want. But I’d like to hear it from your own mouth, gorgeous, before I take you up on that bath.”

The solid respect and care, the human goodness, the pure fucking _decency_ hit Blake like a punch to the gut. She surged forward, wrapping her arms tightly around Yang’s chest, burying her face in the warm curve of Yang’s throat. Strong arms wrapped around her with equal fervor, rooting her and encouraging her. Blake took one long breath, then leaned back to meet Yang’s gaze.

“I’m glad we had that talk last night. We needed firmer footing for… wherever we’re going with this. But I don’t want you to think you have to treat me like a delicate rosebud now that you know more about how I got here. I want you, Yang. I want you to touch me, I want to taste you again, I want to feel your skin on mine.” She glared a challenge up at those violet eyes, which were now shining with delight. “I hope that’s clear enough for you.”

Without warning, Blake found herself being scooped up and tossed over Yang’s shoulder like a particularly boney sack of potatoes. She yelped in surprise, flailing at the sudden change of perspective. 

“Oof! If you’re a rosebud you have thorns, your elbows are sharp!” Yang laughed, ducking her head sideways to avoid another glancing blow at her ear.

Blake growled in mock outrage which then turned into breathless giggles when Yang jostled her on her shoulder to better balance her weight. “This is all very bodice-ripper. What’s next? Dropping me onto the mattress and having your wicked way with me?”

The grin in Yang’s voice was obvious. “I would, but for some reason you smell like you’ve been swimming in a chocolate fountain. Delicious, but not conducive to feral, hedonistic lovemaking.” They crossed the room to the bathroom, where Yang dropped Blake gently on her feet and steadied her while she regained her bearings. “However, I have been told that I’m very good at scrubbing backs.”

Yang followed Blake into the bathroom, stepping up behind her with highly unnecessary ‘help’ as Blake began to remove her dirty work clothes. Her black sweater was tugged gently up and over her head, replaced by warm hands briefly cupping her breasts through the pale grey lace of her bra. Blake reached for the button of her jeans, only to find busy fingers already at work loosening the garment and pushing it down over the curves of her ass. Part of Blake rebelled against the assistance, and she fought down the urge to jerk away from Yang’s grasp. 

The tantalizing descent of her jeans down her thighs paused— Yang’s hands moved up to rest in the more neutral ground of Blake’s hips. “You okay Blake?”

Forcing herself to relax, Blake tilted her head back against Yang’s shoulder. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Sorry.”

“Apology unnecessary, but accepted. Tell me to stop and I will.” There were her own words, emerging from the mouth of this amazing woman unconsciously and without ulterior motive. 

The first time they had been together Yang had obviously been surprised by Blake’s assertiveness in bed, but she had relaxed into it and trusted herself to Blake. Now, when asked for similar trust, Blake found herself retreating back into herself. There was no certain ground, she didn’t know what Yang expected of her. 

But Blake knew what she could expect from Yang, and this was a point that steadied her. It was in all of the words and actions that had led them to this intimate moment, standing in her bathroom with Yang’s hands cradling her hips as though they held the truth of the world. 

Blake turned in Yang’s loose grasp, only slightly hobbled by the jeans forgotten around her thighs. She wrapped her arms up and around Yang’s neck, searching Yang’s face and finding only care and promise. “I need help with this. I’m not good at…” She tried to find words that didn’t betray her weakness, her fatal flaw. “I’m not good at letting go.”

“I think, maybe, you haven’t had a lot of people who were ready to catch you.” Yang spoke in a rough undertone, quiet not for the sake of the silent, listening house, but for the reverent truth of her words. Then, moving slowly and with clear intent, Yang bent once more to bring her lips to Blake’s. 

Tentatively at first, and then with building heat and focus, Blake fell into the passion of that kiss. Each kiss they shared felt like a return to that first heady time in the parking lot of the Crow Bar. The amazing thing was, somehow it also felt like an evolution. Innovation through mutual understanding until the kiss transcended what a kiss could merely imply and became a dance, a song, some great life-changing work that shaped them as they shaped it, joyously.

Fingertips roughened by needle, thread and cloth found hands calloused by dark steel and uncaring iron. Blake guided Yang’s touch downward to where her pants still clung awkwardly to her thighs. “Help me.” She breathed against that ambrosial, divine, kiss-reddened mouth, and they both knew she didn’t just mean her clothes.

With Yang’s assistance Blake stepped out of the mocha-splattered denim. Blake skated her fingers along revealed creamy-pale ribs and firm smooth belly as Yang unceremoniously tugged her borrowed tank top up over her head and tossed it into the room behind them. The pants soon followed, and Yang cradled Blake close to her as she slid her fingers under the band of Blake’s bra and unhooked it with supreme delicacy. Warm skin brushed against skin, the mere sensation of their bodies so close chasing Blake’s defensively rational mind to the furthest corner of her consciousness.

A sweet kiss that ended with a teasing nip to Blake’s lower lip, then Yang turned to fiddle with the taps over the old claw-foot tub. The angle was entrancing, the gentle concavity of Yang’s waist tapering out into the swell of her hips and her muscular ass. Strong, shapely thighs and calves and, as Yang moved to test the water with her hand, the sway of her full breasts, the bunch and pull of the muscles in shoulders and mid back. Blake knew she was staring but she couldn’t bring herself to look away. When Yang straightened and turned back towards her the speedy redirection of Blake’s gaze and the flush of her cheeks betrayed her.

“If I didn’t want you to look I wouldn’t be here.” She was amused, gently teasing but also pleased. 

Coming to her senses for a moment, Blake turned and dug around under the sink until she found her jar of jasmine Epsom salts. She scattered a handful into the steaming tub. The aroma was heady, almost hypnotic, and it enveloped Blake as she followed Yang into the water’s warm embrace.

“So this is why you always smell so damn good.” Yang had positioned herself at the back of the tub, settling Blake between her legs so that the slightly smaller woman could lean back against her chest.

It was beyond blissful— sublime weightless comfort, heat sinking into the very core of Blake’s being. Somewhere in the distance, the monochromatic melody of rain dancing against skylights and roof. In that moment she would have been hard pressed to think of any time in her recent or distant past where she felt so completely whole.

They drifted for a time, partially submerged and entirely on their own plane of existence, until the water was not quite cold, but it was no longer steaming. Blake stirred against Yang, sitting up to open the hot tap and bring the temperature back up to a suitably boiling degree. Only when her skin was stinging pleasantly did she turn the water off once more.

When the washcloth met her back she startled momentarily, then relaxed forward to rest her cheek on the high rim of the bath. Unbothered, Yang continued in her task, gently but thoroughly scrubbing from Blake’s nape to tailbone. After that was accomplished Yang’s free hand joined the washcloth in a meandering exploration of the gentle curves and hidden softness of Blake’s body.

Half-guided, half of her own volition, Blake turned to face her bath-mate. She found herself straddling Yang’s outstretched thigh, bracing one of her hands against Yang’s knee and the other on the edge of the tub. Water sloshed, dangerously close to overflowing, but neither woman noticed nor cared. 

Yang gazed languidly up and continued her tracing of Blake’s body, a tactile memorization and dreamy indulgence. When her fingers found the small, angry scar that interrupted the softness of Blake’s belly, one of Yang’s own hands fluttered to touch the edge of the webbed expanse of skin that spanned her own flank. 

“Look, we match.” 

Reaching out, Blake caressed Yang’s crisscross of scars with similar tender study. She had seen them before, but now, with the light of day, she painted their pattern across Yang’s hip and up to her ribs. Then her meandering sidetracked, following the enticing rise and fall with every breath to slide fingers and then palm up the solid wall of Yang’s sternum and around to span a partial expanse of one round breast.

The thigh under her moved, the surprise and the friction leaving Blake gasping and hitching her hips to chase the sensation again and again. Yang steadied her with one hand behind her back, rocking with Blake’s movement and murmuring soft encouraging nonsense in velvet tones.

It was wonderful, horrible, too much and not enough all rolled into one. Blake whined, fingers of one hand tightening on Yang’s knee and the other moving to roll Yang’s nipple between the pads of her thumb and forefinger. This elicited a hiss ending in a pleased hum, which Blake answered with a particularly pointed roll of her hips and another roll-tug at the hard bud beneath her fingertips.

“Not in here, babe. As much fun as it sounds, bath tub sex leaves much to be desired. Let’s move somewhere more comfortable.”

It took some doing to get both of them out of the tub, especially since they were now constantly distracted by their need to caress, to stroke, to tug, to nibble, to kiss. Somehow, mostly dry and swathed in Blake’s fluffy, luxuriant bath towels ( _they were such a good investment, Scarlet was right damn him_ ), they stumble-walked to the bed and fell, tangled together, into the welcoming rumpled sheets.

Now, with more space to navigate, Yang set to the vexatious task of finding each and every spot that made Blake writhe and growl. She gave particular attention to the soft skin behind Blake’s ears, nipping and kissing in turns until Blake thought she would turn herself inside out from pulsating, throbbing need. Arousal had lights sparking behind Blake’s eyelids, and she hardly noticed as Yang’s tantalizing mouth moved lower and lower until, suddenly, a wet, clever tongue dipped into the tender heat between her legs.

Blake gasped out, both prayer and profane— Yang’s smile was every bit the unrepentant cat caught with the cream. She descended once more, intent on her target; the direct pursuit of Blake’s rising crescendo of need. She traced a maddening, electrifying path around the folds of Blake’s clit, dipping with spine-arching shallow strokes into the quivering wetness below. Fingertips joined the tongue, stroking against the exquisite flesh with a rhythm somehow matching and matched by the pulse within her. 

But when the fingertips joined the shallow movement within her, Blake’s whole being involuntarily rebelled. Thighs clamped down and she jerked back, away from the touch, heart suddenly hammering in her throat.

Yang pushed herself up to kneeling, her hands resting in neutral ease on her thighs. As Blake unraveled herself she gradually realized that Yang was talking to her, not nonsense but a strange soothing train of mundane non-sequitur ramblings. The words bled the tension out of Blake’s sinews and settled her back into her own body, in her own bed. 

Yang talked about her memories, her classes, what she had for lunch the day before. Anything that seemed to spring to her mind, she recounted it with dreamy clarity, and Blake found herself floating in and out of the narrative.

“...I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life. Pyrrha ended up having to carry me home, piggyback. Imagine how pissed my dad was to have two fifteen year olds show up on the doorstep at two in the morning, all covered in road rash and carrying a broken skateboard.” Yang’s laugh, just like her voice, was a reassuring balm on her soul. As Blake relaxed, Yang began to run a gentle hand down her flank, waist to hip to knee and back again. “Welcome back.”

“I haven’t had anyone inside me in years.” Her voice sounded distant to her own ears, not separate from her but like there was a part of her that was cracking open and letting these words spill out, unbidden. “I want it— fuck, I want it so bad— but it scares me. That it might hurt again.”

A hum told her that Yang heard her, and the stroking continued, steady and safe. 

“Let’s try this again, then. With you watching this time so you aren’t surprised. I’ll take it at your pace.” 

Blake was frustrated, beyond frustrated, with the limitations of her vulnerable, treacherous body, but when she met Yang’s eyes she didn’t see judgement or pity. Something she didn’t dare name unfurled within her and took root, and she reached one wondering hand up to scribe the graceful line of Yang’s jaw and tangle her fingers in that unbelievable golden mane. An inhale, and exhale, and she nodded her assent with a shaky but honest smile.

“Okay.”

They rearranged themselves, piling pillows up behind Blake’s back so that she reclined comfortably and didn’t have to crane her neck to look at Yang, now seated between her widespread legs. Yang’s palms ran up and down Blake’s thighs, occasionally pausing so that her thumbs could swipe small circles in the dip of her hip bone, or sliding upward to gently cup and massage Blake’s breasts. 

Letting herself be admired, savored like this was not something Blake was used to. Even when she was with Ilia, she had preferred to keep her focus on her partner and deflect any attention that was directed at her. But, as Hazel would have said, noticing a cycle was the first step towards breaking it. She briefly wondered what Hazel would think of this particular form of therapy, but the thought was like talking about her sex life with her father and she shuddered inwardly.

She was here, now. The way that Yang looked at her made her melt and burn. Circling the dusky-pink buds of Blake’s nipples, Yang looked up briefly for something, Blake was not sure what. Evidently she saw it, because she smiled ( _those unreal eyes, the slightly parted lips, the flush that drowned her freckles on her cheeks_ ) and bent to take Blake’s breast in her mouth. Though teeth caught with a pleasantly heart-pounding edge of danger, they were followed by a swipe of tongue, torturously gentle. Blake rested her hands on Yang’s upper arms, kneading at the muscle there, and when Yang hummed in enjoyment the sibilation sent a shudder of surprised delight down Blake’s spine.The other nipple was given a similar treatment, just in case it felt left out.

Yang settled, draped over Blake’s right thigh with her left arm sliding under the pillow beneath Blake’s lower back so that they were nested together like perfectly made puzzle pieces. Yang’s free hand skated baroque patterns across any bare skin she had access to, and Blake began to feel that familiar throbbing, hungry ache awaken within her once more. The grey-blue storm light through the windows bleached the color from Yang’s face and hair, turning her ethereal, otherworldly. They were somehow separated from time, the hue of filtered sunlight simultaneously morning, afternoon, and evening.

The ghost of touch travelled down to flutter along her inner thigh and Blake’s hips arched, seeking sensation of their own volition. Yang chuckled throatily, and Blake bit the inside of her lip to try and stifle her frustrated groan. Gifted fingers stroked along the meeting of her legs, the overeager cleft and growing urgency within. The pad of one finger, then two, slid lightly within her labia to gather wetness and ease their motion against the tender, opening folds of her cunt. With the first pass Blake’s breath caught in her throat; the second had her bringing her palm to her mouth the smother the small gasps and moans that escaped her throat, unbidden, and the third had her back arching against the pillows with breathless delight.

Sensation continued, slipping and stroking and tantalizing with a skill that wiped her mind clear of all else but the parts of them that pressed together, thighs, bellies, breasts. Yang was intent, her expression blissfully focused as she watched her hand work at Blake’s pleasure. Blake curved her right arm around to encircle Yang, hand absently stroking at the bare soft skin in pantomime of what Yang was doing between her legs. 

“I’m going to try one finger, okay?”

Blake purred a blissful “mmmhmmm”, rolling along with the movement of Yang’s hand. The promised digit swirled around the perimeter of her opening, which throbbed with every labored beat of her heart. It slipped in only an inch or so, stroking in and then out and then in again. Blake was on the verge of crying out from the pent up frustration of want, trembling with the need for...what? Contact? Connection? Yang leaned in to press a kiss to Blake’s shoulder and slid smoothly in to the last knuckle. 

It was _perfect_.

But it wasn’t _enough_.

And then Yang began to move. She swept the pad of her finger in a wide circle and Blake quaked at the sensation. Yang set up a steady pattern of circling and thrusting, peppering Blake’s shoulder, her collarbones, her cheek with sweet kisses as she went. Pressure and molten heat built within Blake’s core, bringing her trembling to the brink of release. Then, with a nip of teeth at the crest of Blake’s shoulder and a deep sweeping plunge, Blake found herself cresting over the peak of passion and falling helpless into the surging tide of her orgasm.

They rode through it together, Yang whispering rapturous encouragement into her ear. Blake could feel herself fluttering around Yang, and even as she drifted back from the brink Yang began to move again within her. Her hungry body rose to meet the challenge, and she barely noticed when a second finger joined the first, heralded by a barely heeded murmur from her lover.

Something that had gone unrecognized within Blake for years was stirring, craving, and Yang was dedicated to meeting that need in every way that Blake could (and couldn’t quite) articulate. The cradling arm behind her back, the searing warmth of their bodies pressed close together, the graceful, ceaseless movement within her...everything else fell away behind the fog of _here_ and _now._

The wave was building within her once more, unstoppable and insurmountable, and she trembled and gasped and arched into the force that pinned her weightlessly to the sheets. Blake bit at her lips to hold back her own voice, only to be countered by Yang kissing her cheek, the corner of her mouth, and crooning hopeful, hopeless nothings to her.

“Please baby, I want to hear you.”

That shattered the last support holding back the full surging force of her passion, a lost and found again cry ripping from her chest along with the last shreds of her self-consciousness.

Blake lay, gasping, her hair sweat-slicked back from her forehead, her thighs quivering like reeds in the wind. And still Yang was inside of her, not moving now but cupping her from within with the reverence of one who has caught a fledgling fallen from its nest. Blake throbbed and rolled around her fingers, the aftershocks of her orgasm coursing through her blissful body. 

When Blake no longer clenched and shuddered, Yang carefully withdrew and took a long look at her skillful hand, glistening with wetness. 

“Wow.”

That seemed too simple a summation of what had occurred, but Blake didn’t have the wit or the willingness to contradict her. Her mind was happily enveloped in the clinging haze of the terminally well-fucked. She opted for clumsily extracting her limbs from where they were enmeshed with Yang’s, rolling over to pointedly pin the other woman to the rumpled sheets. From that advantageous position Blake proceeded, with the great single-mindedness of the momentarily witless, to kiss Yang very thoroughly and well.

As she gradually regained her own senses, Blake found herself moving in answer to the pleading gyrations of Yang’s form. Her lover was wanton in her own need, whining and begging in soft undertones as Blake responded with building attention and enthusiasm. Her own hand, confident in the inebriation of lust, found its way between their bodies, and she slipped with ease into Yang’s eager entrance. 

Rolling and thrusting in time with the desperate pattern of Yang’s desire, Blake found herself falling into overwhelming ardor combined with all-consuming reverence for this amazing, precious, limitless being. Within her was the previously unrecognized soul of a passionate protector, reaching out with ruthless compassion to wrap itself around this treasure that had been entrusted to her.

She wasn’t sure when she began to speak, but she did notice Yang’s response to her words. 

“Gods, you are so beautiful. Stunning. I could drown in you.”

A soft, needy cry. A trembling hitch of hips.

“So perfect. You are so good to me.”

A whimper, followed by a tightening of fingers tangled in her hair.

“I’m so lucky to have you.”

Yang bucked gently into Blake’s touch, murmuring something that sounded almost like Blake’s name.

Blake lifted herself up far enough that she could look Yang in the eye, drowning gladly into an unbelievable ocean of violet light. Her voice was ragged in her throat, torn by half-remembered cries of ecstasy, and she growled lovingly to the portrait of perfection beneath her.

“Good girl.”

The response was instantaneous, Yang tightening suddenly, ferociously around her, her release carrying all of the contained force held at bay during the previous intense interlude. A cry, feral and exquisite, echoed in the silence of the room. The shock on Yang’s face was met with the delight on Blake’s, her soul brimming with effervescent elation.

They hovered together, caught in the comprehension of the moment, chests heaving from sensual exertion. Then Blake’s stiff-locked arms turned to rubber and she had to deflect herself sideways to avoid landing full-force on Yang’s similarly defenseless form. With the last shreds of obedience from her muscles, she snagged the blanket from where it had been carelessly pushed to the foot of the bed and pulled it up over their rapidly cooling bodies. Yang managed to extend one unwieldy arm and Blake took the invitation to snuggle close and nuzzle against the sweat-salted column of Yang’s neck.

After an interval spent reining in pounding pulses and regaining lost breath, Blake propped herself up on her right elbow to gaze fondly down at Yang.

“So. Praise is a thing for you, I take it.” 

Yang groaned, throwing an arm over her face but failing to conceal the blush that spread to the tips of her ears.

“Fuck. I’ll give you fifty lien if you never mention that again.”

“Fifty lien? This is priceless.” Blake stretched herself across her lover’s pliant body, pushing the veiling arm away. She beamed at Yang with only a little mischievous intent, feeling far too sated and benevolent to tease the other woman for long. “You’re a wonder, Yang Xiao Long.”

“Really, how do you figure that?” Yang was embarrassed, a bit disgruntled, but it would seem her own afterglow overwhelmed even those emotions. A strong hand ruffled affectionately through Blake’s hair.

Humming in contentment, Blake rested her chin on her crossed forearms. “I can’t say that my sexual experience is anywhere near as extensive or diverse as yours—“

“Hey now!”

A slender finger shushed Yang’s indignant exclamations. “BUT, I am one hundred percent confident that no one has ever made me feel as comfortable, as fucking _safe_ as I do with you. And, since I know I’m riding high on endorphins and I probably won’t have the guts to say this when we wake up from the nap that we are definitely about to have, I just wanted to let you know that I’m really happy to have you in my life. Whatever this is, I want more of it. And not just the mind-blowing sex either— whatever you want, I’m here for it. The ball’s in your court now. So there.” Blake replaced the shushing finger with her lips, planting a soft, lingering kiss on Yang’s startled mouth. Then she rolled off of Yang, snuggling once more into the protection of that extended, encircling arm.

As she was dozing off, somewhere between consciousness and sleep, she thought she heard a shakily earnest undertone.

“Yeah. I want more of this, too.”

__________________________________________________  
ART CORNER:

-Completely unprovoked @hulderhearth drew [THIS gorgeous art of the bodice ripper moment](https://probably-momo.tumblr.com/post/643975887866544128/hulderhearth-an-adorable-moment-from-chapter-15of) ❤️❤️❤️

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recap for those who may have skipped the NSFW section:  
> Yang takes the lead this time, and she is very gentle. Blake has not been comfortable with allowing herself to be given pleasure, and she discovers previously unrecognized trauma surrounding situations feeling not entirely in her control. They talk through it and work through it together. Much fluffy smut ensues. Afterwards, Blake verbally acknowledges that there is some sort of relationship or connection between them. GOOD JOB BLAKE! And Yang agrees with her. Post-coital cuddles and naps to follow.  
> ______________________________________________________________  
> AUTHOR’S NOTES:  
> -Post Script: A door slammed pointedly, startling both women from the edge of slumber. Blake buried her face in her pillow, groaning.  
> “Scarlet was here the whole fucking time. I’m never going to hear the end of this.”  
> -As the show has returned from hiatus and is once more breaking our hearts every Saturday morning, I think we all need some soft smut to heal our souls.  
> -I am so here for the Sun-Yang broship. Sometimes it’s easier to talk about hard stuff with someone who is remote from the situation.  
> -As my friend Graham said, “Sun, the great and subtle wingman.”  
> -Chapters like this are a whole lot of fun to write. I was actually surprised when I ended up writing a lot of emotional exploration and healing in this chapter— it was initially supposed to just be fluffy smut and that was it. But Blake needed a beat for her own growth, and she gets it here. You can plan a story as much as you want, but when you sit down to put words to paper sometimes it just takes on a mind of its own.  
> -Bathtub foreplay is great. Bathtub sex is awkward and uncomfortable.  
> -Heed Scarlet’s advice here, my darlings: If you can afford one luxury for your first dorm or apartment, make it lovely fluffy towels. If you can afford two luxuries, fluffy towels and soft sheets.  
> -Part of what broke Blake and Ilia up— Blake was a selfishly selfless lover. It’s lonely to be with someone who doesn’t let you give anything back.  
> -THIS IS NOT A MAGIC HEALING SEX MOMENT. This is two adults talking about their trauma and working through roadblocks together. Sex is wonderful, but it can’t replace good therapy and actually talking about your feelings.  
> -Mmmmm, yes. Yang “I don’t have a praise kink shut up” Xiao Long.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A time-skip chapter, touching on a few significant points in the months that follow Blake and Yang’s first interactions. Emotional exploration and spending time with each other just for the sake of the comfort and ease they feel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the longest chapter I’ve posted so far, capping out at 9,863 words. Next weeks chapter will be significantly shorter— this is the only way I could figure out how to pace the chapters appropriately. As always, thank you dear readers for indulging my verbose tendencies.
> 
> RECOMMENDED LISTENING:  
> -“The Fire”, The National Parks  
> -“Faint of Heart”, The Strike

FOR ADDITIONAL READING, PLEASE CHECK OUT @spoopsboops FIRST CHAPTER OF HER FIC “[You Will Surely Be the Death of Me (But How Could I Have Known)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29443602/chapters/72326721)”. This gorgeous story explores Yang’s past and digs deeply into the relationship between Raven, Tai, and Summer, leading up to Raven’s departure and Summer’s death. It’s a part of the continuity that I would not have had time to explore myself, and I am so grateful to her for writing it.

Listen to the Spotify playlist (curated by the author’s wife, @spoopsboops) [HERE](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0NAkxw0y9KBjkbqX3Yum36?si=F0JnjDVrSoG3dLea7EAGbQ).

Follow on Tumblr and Instagram @probably_momo, for art and writing updates.

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Hazel’s office was on the third floor of an old building on the edge of Vale’s quietly fading commercial district. Occasionally the tram would pass by in the street and all of the sagging, single pane glass windows would rattle in their frames. The panels of wide open glass made a portrait of tree branches, street lights, and the pantograph of the tram below. 

Blake curled in the corner of the deep, brown suede couch, feet tucked up under her and her hands warmed by a steaming cup of osmanthus oolong tea. Classical music played at an almost indecipherable level, softening the silence with a hint of melody and dynamic. 

At his desk in the corner, Hazel was finishing up some paperwork from a different patient. The large man dwarfed the slim lines of his modern furniture, big hands making the keys of his laptop seem like a child’s toy. He had a small pair of reading glasses balanced on the end of his nose, and he scowled at the technology as though it were put on Remnant just to vex him personally. 

After only a couple of visits, Blake learned that Hazel didn’t mind if she arrived early. 

“It’s silly to make you sit down in the lobby.” He had humphed, mouth twisting wryly up at the corner. “You might as well be up here and comfortable while I’m running behind.”

She was content to make herself a cup of tea with the electric kettle, and to sit and look out the window while Hazel got caught up on his patient notes. She looked forward to it now, this fifteen to twenty minutes every two weeks in which she could do absolutely nothing other than drink tea and breathe and think. Being left alone with her own thoughts used to terrify her, like the prospect of drowning in deep water or edging along a cliff with a thousand-foot drop inches beyond her toes. Now it was like visiting an old friend with which she had reconciled the wrongs of her past.

Dr. Rainart groaned as he pushed himself away from his wood and steel framed desk. He stood with a popping and crunching of joints and sinew, a physical testament to the difficulties of his past. He silently made his way across the room to the table that housed the kettle and his tea and coffee paraphernalia, and busied himself with making a cup of instant discount brand coffee. When Blake had gotten up the nerve to ask him about it, just a little over a year before, he had admitted to being introduced to bad coffee and cigarettes while he was in the army. He’d given up the cigarettes at the prompting of his little sister, but the bad coffee was a vice he stubbornly held onto.

When the kettle clicked, he poured hot water over the brown granules in his mug, then crossed to the couch in a few long strides to refresh Blake’s tea. She gave him a smile and nod of thanks, then continued her contemplation of the branches beyond the glass. He returned with his own steaming brew and settled in the worn armchair that was placed at a companionable angle to the couch.

They shared the silence for a few more minutes, Hazel sipping his coffee with the air of someone who had grown so accustomed to bitterness that he now savored it. He was a study in contradictions, this man who had spent the last three years unraveling the complex web of Blake’s fear and trauma. Perhaps it was because of his own loss, his own mis-healed wounds, that when she spoke of the horrors of her past he considered her with the gravity of a fellow soldier, not with shock or dismay. When he spoke of post-traumatic stress disorder, of battlefield shock in the time immediately after violence, she could feel the personal truth that laid at the bones of his words.

While he was brusque and straight forward, he was also kind. He was hardened, but he adapted gracefully to the wave of emotions that had burst forth when the cork holding back all of Blake’s pent up hurt and terror and rage pulled loose to release everything she had been repressing for the last six years. He insinuated a box of tissues on the end table next to her, gently prodded and nudged and wound his way through the labyrinth of her tearful, heartbroken recollection, and gave her the safe space to bleed out the poison weighing down her soul. He drank bitter coffee, but loved the sweet pastries Blake sometimes brought him from the coffee shop.

“I’m seeing someone.” Words floated out of her, prompted by nothing but welcome all the same. “She’s at Beacon too, in the power technologies department. It’s not official or anything, but we’ve stayed over at each other’s places a couple of times. We text. Sometimes I’ll call her. She calls me.”

Hazel sipped his coffee and watched her with the relaxed, attentive gaze that told her he was absorbing what she said and that he would ask for clarification if he needed it. He never took notes, which Blake whole-heartedly appreciated. She found it unnerving when a therapist jotted down secret code as she talked, recording her words and watching for the break, the misstep, the sign she was beyond hope.

Tracing a bead of liquid that clung to the rim of her mug, Blake continued. “I’ve never met someone like her before, but the second we started talking it felt like I’d known her forever. She’s funny as hell, kind of a sarcastic shit sometimes, but she’s sweet too. Bad stuff has happened to her, but she hasn’t let it kill the little kid in her. She’s so strong— I mean, physically yeah, she could bench press me— but so _emotionally_ strong too. Maybe too strong, I don’t know.”

“Too strong? Want to elaborate on that a bit?” He had a way of sounding encouraging but serene, not pushing her into a corner but smoothing the floor out for her so that she could walk on her own.

“It’s, I don’t know.” Blake nibbled on the cuticle of her thumb, rough and calloused from her recent increase of hand-sewing projects. “I think it’s kind of like how I was when I first got here. She’s been putting on a brave face for so long she can’t really tell the difference between that and her own feelings. I don’t think she even realizes it.”

“What does that feel like to you?”

An exhale, a long sip of hot, fragrant tea. “It’s a little sad. She’s helped me a lot over the last… Fuck, has it only been six weeks?” She chuckled, teeth set a little too hard into a lower lip. “She’s done so much for me, I only wish I could do something for her. She fixed my car when it wouldn’t start. Remember, I told you about that last time? And she’s modeling for my thesis portfolio show. I’ve finally got Goodwitch off my ass. She actually told me she thinks my new direction ‘shows promise’.” The last words were delivered with a regal air, mimicking her intimidating professor’s dominating demeanor.

This prompted a surprising chuckle from Hazel as well, a truly rare occurrence and one that warranted further consideration. “It sounds like she’s an admirable woman. And I’m sure you knew that progress on your project would reassure your professor, no matter how militaristic she may seem.”

 _Militaristic was the right word for it._

The professors at Beacon were an interesting lot, many of them selected and hired by the previous headmaster based on his knowledge of their capabilities rather than any illustrious resume. No one could dispute the fact that they were all now leaders in their own fields, though at the time they had been unknown quantities. Rumors circulated that several of them had served in some military capacity with former Professor Ozpin, with the undercurrent of implication that they had been involved in the gathering of foreign intelligence. With some of them, like boisterous and unpredictable Professor Oobleck, or pompous and distractible Professor Port, Blake just couldn’t see it. But with Goodwitch, the edge of cold steel in her backbone spoke of someone who had long experience with the evils one man could do to another— either that or her corset was just laced too tight.

The recognition in Hazel’s response to her mocking impersonation of the austere woman gave a bit more credence to the wild rumors. Glynda Goodwitch’s intimidation factor rose just a bit more in Blake’s mind. 

“I knew it logically, but that didn’t stop me from feeling like she was inches away from sinking my degree and my career. But I guess I’m less fucked on that front now. I’m just the usual amount of stressed out that comes from looking forward to the runway show that could make or break my dream job.” Blake sighed. She usually vied away from hyperbole, refusing to indulge the melodramatic emotionality that it implied. Sometimes, and especially with the balm of Hazel’s judgement-free contemplation easing her words along, she just couldn’t help letting out the vice of impatient youth that still ran beneath her skin. In spite of everything that had happened, really it was a marvel.

“It’s funny. A lot of the time I feel like an old lady in a 20-something’s body— I’m crabby if I’m not in bed by ten, I like to drink tea and read murder mysteries with my cat, and I just don’t get why kids these days love Snapchat so much. But being around Yang makes me feel like I’m my own age, maybe younger. There’s a lot she has more experience in than I do.” Her cheeks were hot, and she really hoped Hazel wouldn’t prod her down that particular line of questioning. “Which is a little strange for me, maybe a little humbling, but it’s reassuring too. I don’t always have to know what I’m doing, because she’s right there next to me. And when she doesn’t know what she’s doing either, we figure it out together.”

Her memory slid to a few days prior. _It was a lazy Monday night. Her back was against Yang’s warm shins as they sat on the fire escape outside of Yang’s dorm, watching the sunset. Blake had a can of milk tea and Yang had a bottle of imported beer. They were caught in the afterglow of the passion that had driven them to fumbling at each others clothes seconds after the door had closed. Yang’s horrendous orange and brown hoodie wrapped around Blake like a soft, protective cocoon. She burrowed her nose into the collar and inhaled a deep lungful of the complex human and mechanical aroma that was Yang Xiao Long. The air was losing the heat of the day as the sun vanished behind the city skyline, but she was warm to her very core._

“How are you doing with the nightmares? You mentioned last time that you had a few recently.”

Blake caught herself as the cuticle returned to her mouth. She pointedly lowered it, mentally scolding herself for falling back on old self-comfort habits. “I had a pretty bad one the first time I stayed over at her place. I took a shower and passed out in her bed at like five thirty at night. Woke up sometime around one in the morning, absolutely convinced that Adam was there in the bed with me. That he had come back to, to,” She grimaced, pushed through. “To finish what he’d tried to do. To kill me.”

A deep hum of acknowledgement, a considering and encouraging nod from her therapist. He drank his coffee, watching her over the rim of his cup with an understanding expression in his usually enigmatic gaze.

“I hit her in the eye, with my elbow I think. Next thing I remember I was across the room crouching on the carpet with my back pressed up against something hard. And she was talking to me. She asked if she could hold me, she carried me back to bed when my legs were too shaky to stand. Apparently it’s something she’s dealt with too, panic attacks. Night terrors. She had an accident a few years ago, basically she had to have a lot of surgeries. She’s still in physical therapy.” Blake wasn’t sure how much she wanted to talk about the details Yang had described to her— it seemed like a betrayal of her trust, even if it was to her therapist with the contract of patient confidentiality hanging between them. Maybe she didn’t want to open Yang up to judgement from a man who was a stranger to her, though Blake knew Hazel well enough to feel that he withheld judgement for pretty much everyone. Fuck, she needed to answer his question. “So yeah, I’ve had a few. They haven’t been as bad as that first one though.”

Then she changed the topic, musing over her interactions with Ilia over the last couple of weeks, how she was coping with the stress of her last term in college, and the frustrations she had with her coworkers, classmates, and housemates. Hazel gently pressed her to go further into her worries regarding her inadequacy in her school projects, helping her put into words the fog of anxiety that had intermittently clouded her judgement. Somehow, by the end of their 45 minute appointment, Blake felt like she had simultaneously run a marathon and had just woken up from a nap; she was refreshed, but exhausted. She looked forward to getting home to put on pajamas and watch Vacuo dramas while she worked on her endless pile of hand sewing and beading.

“Same time in two weeks work for you?”

Blake nodded, slinging her bag over her shoulder. She had it set as a recurring reminder on her scroll.

Hazel accompanied her to the door, disguising this moment of chivalry by turning to make himself another cup of godawful coffee. He looked up as her hand touched the doorknob, giving her a slow, genuine smile. 

“You’ve come a long way in the last three years. It’s about time you let yourself be happy.”

She contemplated this for a second. Part of her wanted to reply with some flippant one-liner, but she reined in the impulse and instead returned his smile. “Thanks, Hazel. That really means a lot.” The small, ignored part of her that was twelve and craved acknowledgement and praise glowed like an ember, and she let that warmth carry her down the stairs and out onto the city street below. 

______________________________________________________________

**:Blake: Hey, are you doing anything this afternoon?**

Yang had collapsed in the decrepit rolling chair in the office of the Lab 6 auto shop, taking her first breather of the morning after being left in charge of the Intro to Auto Repair class. Cordovin had left halfway through class, grumbling something about being “too old for this shit” and leaving Yang to figure out which one of the students had squirreled away every 10 and 12mm socket in the shop. Between the half-awake bewilderment and the raucous amusement at the chaos this caused, it took her almost forty minutes, and making the entire class do push ups, before one miscreant confessed and returned the tools. He and his lab partner were gifted the dirtiest, oldest, most grease and rust-caked engine in the shop, three rags and a bottle of degreaser.

“Fix it.” 

At the implication of violence in her tone, the two boys immediately lost their performative snark and set to de-gunking the engine with the height of self-preservation inspired focus. After that, all she had to do was put the _fear of Yang_ into the rest of the class so that they could accomplish SOMETHING today. She also answered a few legitimate questions from those students who were actually taking the class to learn something, and snarled at one who seemed bound and determined to lose an appendage to the overhead crane.

By the time she made it to the office, her nerves were worn so thin they could be used to check tolerances on a military-commissioned construction contract, and the coffee she had responsibly brought for herself was cold in her reusable mug. If it weren’t for that text message, waiting on her scroll for delightful discovery, she would have just decided to scrap the day and go back to bed as soon as the Intro class was out. Instead she felt a second wind coming on, filling her proverbial sails with pleasantly Blake-accented new energy.

**:Yang: nope, what do u have in mind?**

The good thing about cold coffee was that she could gulp it down without scorching her face off, and she drank half of it in one long pull. The three dots of promise popped up in the dialogue window. Yang leaned back dangerously in the ancient chair, trying to keep her nervous energy in check.

**:Blake: I have a surprise for you this time. :)**

**:Yang: fuck yes i am so down**

**:Blake: ...Don’t get too excited, it’s nowhere near as cool as that arboretum you took me to. I was thinking we could do some studying together.**

**:Yang: that sounds great! where do you want to meet?**

They agreed to meet outside of Yang’s dorm, an hour after her current class let out. Blake would drive so they could bring their school work with them— she told Yang in no uncertain terms that she was not about to try to ride on the motorcycle with her sewing kit and a coat made of linen suiting. Yang was fine with the change of transportation, since it meant she would be able to bring along the massive engine manual she had been putting off reading for her own studies.

With a much improved outlook on life, Yang polished off the rest of her coffee and strode back out into the lab. The shock and alarm on her students’ faces at the massive grin she now wore was even better than the normal fear that her scowl inspired. She spent the next hour cheerfully berating the class into submission, and by the time the clock tower in the Winter Hall was chiming the noon hour they were all sweat soaked, grease smeared, and ready to go eat lunch and take a nap.

Tidying the shop was a quicker affair than usual. Yang ran a cursory pass of the dust mop around the tool cabinets and beneath the engine stands, then shut off the lights and locked the door behind herself. She had opted to take the short walk across campus that morning rather than ride her motorcycle and search for parking, and now she took the return journey at a half-jog. If she calculated correctly she would have just enough time to shower, change, and gather the necessary manuals and assorted notebooks she would need to stay occupied for a few hours of casual study. Study at some mysterious location of Blake’s choosing.

Under normal conditions Yang hated surprises— she liked being able to plan for any eventuality, to be prepared to react to what was happening appropriately. Her friends had stopped planning her surprise parties after the first one, where she accidentally knocked Jaune unconscious when he had the misfortune of being the closest person to the door for her eighteenth birthday party. She couldn’t help it that her knee jerk response to a large person leaping out at her from the shadows was to punch them in the face, even if said person was also shouting “Happy birthday Yang!” and throwing confetti.

The fact that it was a _Blake_ surprise made all the difference in the world. A Blake surprise made the butterflies that were now living rent-free in her stomach take flight and batter themselves against her rib cage. Blake had told her not to get too excited, but that was easier said than done. And it was unlikely that Yang would be disappointed— Blake could give her a tour of all of the scenic large potholes in the parking lot behind the auto lab and Yang would have a perfectly lovely time. Whatever she had planned, it would be a great afternoon.

Caught between trying to zip up her jeans and shove a too-large book into a too-small bag, Yang nearly jumped out of her skin when her scroll started to trill insistently. It was where she had dumped it when she came in, vibrating its way dangerously close to the corner of her desk. Yang dropped the textbook and the bag, lunging for the noisy device and fumbling as she slid it open.

“Oh fuck dropped you— Heeeeey Blake, how’s it going?”

A velvet chuckle on the other end of the line reawakened the damn lepidopteric circus in her belly. “You okay Yang? ‘Cause you don’t sound okay.”

“I’m great, fantastic, I was just finishing getting ready to come down and meet you, actually.” She balanced the scroll between her shoulder and her ear, finally getting the book into the bag with an inarticulate exclamation of triumph. 

“Well I’m down in the taxi waiting zone, so don’t hurt yourself. I’m not going anywhere. That is, unless one of the rideshare drivers who keep pulling by and giving me the stink eye decides to start some shit.”

Yang grinned, sliding her feet into her Converse and tucking the laces inside the shoes to tie later. “Don’t throw down until I get outside, I want to film it. You’ll go viral.”

The derisive snort that resounded in her earpiece told her Blake’s opinion of that idea. “Just get your butt down here, I really don’t want to get a ticket.”

“Be right there!” Yang hung up the scroll and tucked it into the pocket of her leather jacket. She grabbed her book bag and almost pulled the door open before she remembered one key detail— she zipped up and buttoned her jeans. 

“Pull it together Xiao Long. You’re just going down to meet the hottest girl in Remnant. What’s there to be nervous about?” With that little pep talk delivered, Yang exhaled, pulled the door open, and marched resolutely down the hallway to the stairs.

The familiar little white Honda was idling right outside of the building when she pushed open the front door. Blake had been looking down at something on her scroll, but she glanced up as the door swung open and the smile she gave Yang was the best thing she had seen all day. Shit, all week. Yang jogged to the passenger side and slid in. She really wanted to lean across the void where the gearshift stood proud, to kiss Blake a proper hello, but she wasn’t sure they were quite at the “kiss me whenever” stage of their… thing. So she opted for an awkward grin. 

“Thanks for coming to get me. Where are we going?”

“I said it was a surprise, and it’s still a surprise. Besides, you’ll know in fifteen minutes because we’ll be there. Can you survive that long?” Blake threw the car into reverse to angle her way out the parking spot. Her eyes may have been responsibly fixed on checking her clearance and glancing over her shoulder for oncoming traffic, but her gleeful grin was for Yang.

Conversation started, then petered out into companionable silence— Yang caught herself listening intently to the sound of the engine, trying to pick out any indications of transmission issues or engine misfires. She laughed, telling Blake about this idiosyncratic compulsion.

“You can listen to my engine any day— euphemism definitely intended. But seriously, all I know about auto maintenance is to put gas or oil in when the lights come on and get it to the shop when the sticker on my dashboard tells me to.”

“I could teach you to change your oil pretty easily. On an old car like this you really just need to get under it and know which part to unscrew. Then it’s just waiting for it to drain and refilling it when it’s empty.” Yang propped her chin on her fist, elbow supporting her weight on the window ledge. With her eyes closed, listening closely, she could tell just how much attention Nora and Yatsuhashi had put into tuning the car up after replacing the starter. The engine was as close to a purr as a nearly thirty year old car could be, and Yang felt like she could almost read the directions for their destination through the language of shifting, acceleration, deceleration, and the differing sound of patched and new asphalt beneath the tires.

They pulled into a parking spot and Yang opened her eyes once more. They were in a part of old town Vale, a few miles from Beacon campus. The narrow street was lined with ornamental plum trees, their pale pink blossoms like a veil of lace overhanging the sidewalks. When a gentle swirl of wind kicked up they fell like fae snow, dizzying spirals of unimaginable delicacy to collect in drifts and get trod under careless feet into the damp sidewalk.

Yang gathered her school supplies and followed, a few paces behind Blake, gazing curiously around herself. She had lived in Vale all of her life, except for the summers spent in Patch at her family’s cabin, but she hadn’t spent much time in this area of town. There were a lot of antique shops specializing in imports and eccentricities, not exactly the kind of area that would have welcomed a group of teenagers milling about— particularly not such a distinctively counter-culture collection as she and her friends had been. The restaurant where Ren worked was five or six blocks from their current location. There were a couple of well-respected dim sum restaurants, and others that specialized in the cuisine of central Anima. 

Blake led the way, not into one of the elegant shop fronts on the main thoroughfare, but up a side street for a few blocks before she stopped, waiting for Yang to catch up. A uniform high stone wall, broken by occasional octagonal windows placed above eye level and holding ornate frames made of rich dark wood, stretched the length of the block. The wall was capped with grey slate tiles, slanting outwards. Blake stood before a wide door made of the same sumptuous wood, a polished brass handle in the center surrounded by elaborate carvings of dragons and fish. With Yang at her side once more, Blake flashed an enigmatic smile before reaching for the handle and pushing the door open. She gestured for Yang to step through, then followed, closing the door behind them.

Walking through the doorway was like being transported into another world. Yang found herself inside a small but intricately planned garden, of the style that was found across Mistral and Menagerie. A tiled pond wound its way under a series of arched stone bridges and around a small, roofed pavilion of red painted wood, guarded by stone dragon-dogs. Massive koi drifted in lazy schools beneath newly opening lotus leaves and stands of irises, not quite in bloom. At the center of the serene wonderland, in the place of honor, stood a wide wooden building with a peaked roof that swooped outwards at elegant angles. Many-paned windows overlooked the garden, and a few low tables with cushioned stools were set out beside the glass-still pond.

“What is this place?” Yang was lost to awe, her bag of books hanging limply from one hand as she tried to take in everything at once. It was mind-blowing that such a place could exist here, within the city, and somehow have the feeling of being from a long distant era. The sounds of the nearby busy street were nearly inaudible, thanks to the high, thick walls that encircled them. 

“It’s officially called the Kuchinashi Classical Garden, but the real star of the show is the tea house. The guy who runs it is very picky about where he sources his tea from and the selection is mind blowing.”

It was hard for Yang to believe that anything could outshine the garden itself. She trailed behind, captivated by the orange, black, and white bodies of the fish moving in a slow motion dance past the thick stone supports of the walkway that they followed. Dwarf maple trees were sculpted into evocative, curious geometries, with a backdrop of the waxy emerald leaves and still tightly furled buds of camellia shrubs. In out of the way corners and on purpose-built stone shelves, tiny forest scenes were frozen in time in the form of carefully trained and pruned miniature trees in simple glazed pots. Bamboo stretched up and over the stone wall on the far side of the enclosed area, tall, slender stalks swaying and sandpaper leaves rattling in the soft breeze.

A faint, ethereal aroma greeted them, even before Blake opened the delicately wrought wooden door of the tea shop. Inside it was omnipresent, an evasive scent that was part earth, part heaven, and entirely inviting. Behind the counter stood an elderly man in an apron, with vast bushy eyebrows that were attempting to make up for the lack of hair on the top of his head with their own lush growth. He smiled and nodded at Blake, who waved back cheerfully, then he turned and vanished through a doorway that was partially obscured by a rough unbleached cloth that swayed at his passing.

“Let’s take that table in the corner. Hardly anybody comes here mid-week, and the owner doesn’t mind if we spread out a little bit to work.” Blake indicated an elegant table next to the windows, four chairs drawn close around it. She dropped her sewing bag into one of the seats and collapsed happily onto the chair next to it.

Yang took the spot directly across from Blake, putting her own bag of books on the ground next to her ankles. She felt very large and clumsy next to all of the delicately worked wood and fine porcelain displayed on ledges throughout the shop. Yang sat on her hands to reassure herself that she wasn’t about to flail out and smash a priceless antique with a careless elbow.

The owner of the shop reappeared just as quickly as he had gone, now carrying a lacquered tray filled many small dishes, each containing a different kind of tasty looking snack. Some were familiar to Yang, some she could guess at due to their association with other treats, and some were entirely new. 

“I’ll have the lapsang souchong please. And she will have the genmai cha.” The old man didn’t speak, but nodded a confirmation to Blake with a wide, happy smile. As he left Blake glanced back at Yang, momentarily anxious. “I’m sorry, I hope you don’t mind that I ordered for you. You can get something else if you don’t like it.”

Reaching over the array of tea snacks, Yang caught Blake’s hand and squeezed it. “Genmai cha will be great. I like complicated black and green teas, so I probably would have asked you for a suggestion anyway. You hit it dead on.” She gave Blake’s warm fingers another squeeze and then released her.

Shuffling the snack plates around, they made space for Yang’s textbooks and notes and cleared a perimeter that would allow Blake to work on her beading without fear of a dropped dumpling or stray boiled peanut. There were small steamed buns and dense squares of surprisingly tasty-looking baked tofu. The boiled peanuts were dark with soy and spices, and there were crispy toasted melon seeds tossed in some fine chili and spice blend. Some sweets that reminded Yang of marshmallow crispie treats were filled with chopped nuts and dried fruits, and the round mochi bites filled with red bean paste were a very nostalgic flavor for her. The rest of the little plates were enticing but entirely alien to Yang, and she was tempted to try them even before their tea arrived. 

But Summer would have teased her for her impatience. “ _They will be even tastier with the tea, dear heart. Just wait and see._ ”

She must have zoned out, caught in reminiscence, for longer than she realized. When she looked up Blake was studying her, a question in her eyes. Yang was about to respond when the tea shop owner reappeared, this time bearing a tray with two small clay teapots that steamed in a promising manner and two of the lidded cups that were a part of a traditional Mistral tea ceremony. _Gaiwan_ , Yang’s distant memory supplied. The man set out their cups and teapots with the air of a conductor taking the stand for a grand orchestra. He then lifted the lids of each cup and poured some steaming brew before replacing the lids with a flourish. As he gathered his tray once more, Yang almost expected him to take a bow. Unfortunately, it would seem he had no further flare for the dramatic, providing the two women with a small, satisfied nod before he retreated back to his kitchen domain.

Yang lifted her tea bowl reverently, fingers of her right hand curling under the base of the cup and thumb holding the rim. She lifted the lid, allowing a fragrant cloud to billow forth while she inhaled with deep happiness. Using the lid to skim the floating leaves back away from the brim, she blew gently to disperse some heat and then took a cautious sip. It was heavenly. It was also scalding hot. She winced and set the cup down, nursing a slightly burned lip.

Chuckling good-naturedly at Yang’s minor misfortune, Blake lifted her cup and smelled her tea as well. She opted to leave it at that for the time being, returning it to the table and reaching across to snag one of the tofu cubes with a conveniently placed small bamboo pick. “How did you learn to drink tea like this?”

Since Blake was digging in, Yang felt less awkward in helping herself to one of the buns. It was scented with ginger and scallions, the fluffy dough filled to the brim with assorted minced vegetables. She savored it, followed with another careful sip of her hot tea, before responding. “My mom—Summer— loved tea, all kinds. She loved learning about how people from all of the different continents prepared tea. She would have tea parties with Ruby and me. I didn’t realize at the time she was teaching us about all the places she traveled for work, too.” 

Concern furrowed Blake’s brow. “Is it ok that we’re here right now? I don’t want to make you sad…”

“It makes me sad a bit, yeah. But it also makes me happy. I don’t know if that makes any sense.” She selected a peanut, splitting the soft shell between her fingertips. “I loved having tea with her. It was interesting and she always made it fun to learn. We did high tea with cucumber sandwiches and scones, frothy matcha, and spicy chai. She’s the only person I know who isn’t from Mantle who actually owned a samovar. That wasn’t my favorite, I never got used to holding a sugar cube or a spoonful of jam in my mouth while I drank my tea.”

“That does sound overwhelmingly sweet.” Blake smiled lopsidedly at Yang. She seemed reassured, picking up her tea once more and blowing on the surface before implementing the familiar skim and sip process. “I feel kind of the same way coming here. I left Menagerie for a lot of good reasons, but when I’m here I realize that there’s a part of me that’s always a little bit homesick. It makes me sad, because I miss my mom and dad, I miss drinking tea with them in my dad’s study or out on the veranda. But it makes me happy, because it reminds me that, even though I’ve come a long way, I can still enjoy things that I’ve always loved. It’s like coming home here, it feels safe.”

“Mom would have liked this place.” The sentiment surprised Yang. She had never really allowed herself to reflect on Summer in any significant way. After they found out she had died, Yang’s life became the balancing act of keeping her little sister and her almost catatonic father fed and at work or school on time. She had been too busy to mourn, even at the half-remembered funeral; she needed to keep it together, to be strong for the three of them. After that she was a teenager, non-specific rage sparking out at anyone who ventured too close, and she was far too cool to admit to missing her mom. Then Raven had happened, and that definitely didn’t deserve additional recollection. Especially since so much of her subconscious mind spent the time between dreaming and waking rattling around the stairs and rafters of Branwen Motors; hazy images of midnight joyrides down abandoned backroads, the bike between her knees and Raven’s bike in the beam of her headlights the only things that mattered in the world…

Yang flipped open the engine manual she needed to study, cutting off that train of thought before it ventured into dangerous, unpredictable territory. They settled into their own tasks, the shuffling of fabric, turning of pages, and the scratching of Yang’s pencil in her notebook making a delicate soundtrack to their mutual industry. It was nice, she reflected, to just be in each other's company. 

“...What was your mom’s full name again?” Blake had set her sewing in her lap and was cupping her tea in her two hands, watching the liquid swirl slowly.

It took Yang a second to pull her brain away from gear ratios to comprehend what Blake was asking her. “Summer Rose. She was a photojournalist.”

A slow nod of acknowledgement, but Blake did not look up. “I heard about her, when she was in Menagerie. I don’t know much, but I remember when she died. It was in all of the newspapers. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not like you did it, Blake. You were twelve, just like me. She died in your country, but it wasn’t your country that killed her. I still… I don’t really know why she died. Probably because she knew something that someone didn’t want getting out.” With a deep sigh, Yang absently grabbed one of the sweets. But instead of eating it, she rolled it between her fingertips. “My uncle Qrow was there at the time too, but he was working in a different part of the city. I think he still blames himself for it, a bit. She was his best friend.”

“I wish I could have met her.” The quiet grief in Blake’s voice startled Yang. Finally, Blake looked up, purple eyes meeting gold for a long moment. “Her work did a lot for Menagerie, especially during the attempted coup. And she sounds like she was a really wonderful mom.”

That recollection squeezed Yang’s heart, but she also felt warm. It felt nice to talk about the good things, to remember Summer in the gilded aura of love and joy that always surrounded her. “I think she would have liked you too. She was an amazing photographer, but she couldn’t draw or sew to save her life. Ruby still has this stuffed toy that mom made her— I think it was supposed to be a bear, but the limbs were too small and the head was too big. It was so silly looking, but mom was really proud of it. I still have all of the postcards she sent, from all of the places she was on assignment. You’ve probably seen them at my dorm, I hung them up so that I could look at them.”

Blake smiled across the table, and the silence felt pregnant and significant. She spoke, her voice low and bittersweet. “It’s wonderful that you have something tangible that you can hold onto. If you love someone, really love them, you carry them with you always. At least, that’s what my dad used to say. When I was a kid, I imagined having a pocket sized version of my grandpa that I carried with me— and I kind of did. He gave me this little lucky cat, and I took it everywhere with me. I lost it, when I was with Adam. It felt like all of my luck went with that cat…”

Their feet tangled together under the table. Yang gazed out the window at the garden beyond, taking the serenity into her heart. It was okay to talk about Summer, missing her and loving her, because Blake was familiar with that loss and grief. It had never mattered that Summer wasn’t the one who brought Yang into the world, she loved Yang just as fiercely and completely as she had loved Ruby. It was okay to be happy that she had known her mom, that she had spent twelve years of her life with that amazing torch of a human being, and that she had been truly loved. It still hurt like a knife to her heart, but the love soothed the ache and told her she could continue on.

The afternoon was long and golden. Blake and Yang worked and talked intermittently, enjoying their proximity and companionship. Their tea was refreshed almost by magic, the shopkeep having some sixth sense that told him when their water was getting too cold or their leaves needed to be replaced. Blake insisted on covering the tab, pointing out that Yang had brought lunch when they went to the arboretum, so it was only fair.

By the end, when Blake dropped Yang off at her dorm again, Yang leaned across the gear shift and pressed her lips to Blake’s. The other woman smiled into the kiss, and a glowing current of contentment flowed between them like warm molasses.

Waving after the disappearing tail lights, Yang hovered blissfully in the tranquility she had found. She was happy, and that meant something.

______________________________________________________________

Electronic cacophony erupted from the corner of the Crow Bar, accompanied by raucous cheering. Jaune had gotten his desired placement at Vale General Hospital, and, in honor of his achievement, Yang, Ruby, and Nora had taken it upon themselves to take him out and get him very drunk. The punch machine reset itself, flashing lights indicating the need for another dose of half-lien coins to be fed into it to continue their test of might. 

Yang searched her pockets and came up mournfully empty, then looked over at Blake with such a theatrically hopeful expression that the brunette couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Ok, here. This is all the change I have.” She emptied her coin purse and sorted out the half-liens from the other, smaller denominations, then poured the coins into Yang’s waiting palms.

“Thanks babe, you’re the best!” Yang planted a noisy kiss on Blake’s cheek before scampering back over to her jubilant friends.

Flushing but unable to contain her happiness at Yang’s sheer enthusiasm, Blake reached to put her wallet away. A ten lien bill appeared in her peripheral vision, accompanied by Pyrrha’s hand. The redhead was grinning in as much of a mischievous expression as her sweet face could contain.

“Here, maybe the bartender will give us some change.” Pyrrha had heard the term of endearment that Yang had used, but she wasn’t passing any comment on it. For now. It almost made Blake feel bad for Yang, knowing the amount of teasing the blonde was going to receive from her friends after this night of revelry was done.

The newer bartender, Neon, was working the counter with Flynt. Blake had double checked that Ilia wouldn’t be working before she agreed to join Yang and her friends at the bar. She wasn’t avoiding her friend, she told herself, she just didn’t want to have another situation like the trivia competition. The sadness she had seen in Ilia’s eyes had turned a screw in her heart.

She caught Flynt’s eye, and the handsome bartender slid down so that he could hear her over the clamor of the other patrons. It was a busy Friday night and their little band weren’t the only ones living it up. He leaned forward on the bar, a friendly grin on his face.

“What can I do for you?”

Blake slid the bill and her empty glass across the counter. “I’d love another soda and bitters— I opened a tab with your friend. And can I please get some change? Probably only five lien’s worth.” Another ragged cheer erupted from behind her and Blake reassessed. “Actually, all of it if you can. I understand if you don’t have enough change.”

Flynt snagged her glass, smoothly discarding the lime in it and dropping it into a sanitizer tray. “We stock up on half-liens for Fridays, a lot of people come here for the games.” The pinball machines lining the north wall were all occupied, giving credence to this statement. He got her a fresh glass with soda water, a few dashes of bitters and a lime to give it life. He moved with the graceful confidence of someone who had learned their job so well they could do it blindfolded. “You’re the DD tonight?”

“Sure am, me and Pyrrha. We’re going to get their butts home before they get too rowdy, don’t worry.”

“Oh, those folks are fine. Loud but harmless— though that little redhead can hold her own in a fight. The tall quiet guy at your table had to carry her out of here once, or she would’ve taken on a whole group of these skeevy biker guys. He’s a tough nut too, that one. He gave those guys a look that would have melted glass and they thought twice about following those two out of here.”

Somehow it didn’t surprise Blake to learn that her new friends had a rough and tumble side. As she returned to the table she watched Nora wind up and sock the hanging bag of the punch machine, snapping it back with so much force that the machine let out a series of new noises indicating a high score. Nora crowed her victory at her companions, shaking out her hand after the impact. She was wearing compression gloves, which told Blake that this form of entertainment was quite familiar to her.

Blake’s scroll, set on silent from her studio time earlier, buzzed energetically in her pocket. She extracted it and slid the screen open.

**:Weiss: Professor Port has been on the same rambling tangent regarding his time in the military for the last half hour. I swear to the gods, if the name of his first commanding officer isn’t an extra credit question on the final I will burn this place to the ground.**

Chuckling, Blake typed a response.

**:Blake: It’s an online lecture, right? I’m sure he won’t notice if you skip out on the last fifteen minutes. I’m at the Crow with Yang and Pyrrha, I’ll buy you a drink.**

**:Weiss: I’ll be there in twenty, I need to change out of my pajamas.**

The idea of Weiss in pajamas was amusing and a bit mind-bending. Blake had never seen her without her elegant skirts and heels, makeup understated but flawless. It made sense that she didn’t always look that way, even if Blake couldn’t imagine it.

She leaned across the table towards Pyrrha so that the other woman could hear her. “Weiss is coming. Apparently her evening class was failing to hold her attention.”

“Oh that’s wonderful! I’ve always wanted to talk with her more. She’s so reserved, it’s been hard to get to know her.” Of course Pyrrha would be happy to see a new person. The woman had enough human kindness to supply the lot of them, balancing out Nora’s almost abrasive enthusiasm and Jaune’s sweet but undeserved self-deprecation. Probably balancing out her own cynicism too, Blake reflected ruefully.

The attention of the boisterous group shifted as Nora came over to enthusiastically tug on Ren’s hand. 

“C’mon handsome, show them what you’ve got!”

He got up from his chair, grumbling all the way, and polished off the last half mouthful of whisky in his glass before reluctantly joining them at the machine. He contemplated the bag, tugging his close-fitting Mistral-style shirt off of his shoulders to reveal a white undershirt and shockingly well-muscled arms, chest, and back. Nora accepted the garment from him, smiling smugly at other nearby bar patrons who had obviously not been expecting this kind of display.

Ren took the light, balanced stance of a trained martial artist, body angled at the punching bag. When he struck it was almost too fast to see, fist connecting solidly with the center mass of the bag and knocking it back with such force that the whole machine rocked. The flashing lights on the digital scoreboard spun then displayed ERROR in bright red letters. 

The ringing bells attracted the attention of the bartenders. Over the general hubbub, Flynt called out to them. “Hey man, we’ve talked about this! Now I’ve got to recalibrate that damn thing.” There was no real irritation or anger in his tone, just good-natured amusement. 

Flashing Flynt an apologetic, embarrassed smile and an awkward wave, Ren collected his shirt from Nora and put it back on. Another tumbler of golden liquid had appeared at the table during his absence— his display had earned him an admirer and a free drink, it would seem. Nora glared around at the other bar patrons, trying to pick out the anonymous benefactor, while Ren sniffed the whisky and raised an eyebrow in appreciation. An admirer with good taste, it would seem.

Yang collapsed next to Blake, out of breath and carefree. She stole Blake’s glass and took a swig. 

“I’ll get you your own if you want?”

“Nah, yours tastes better.” Yang slung an easy arm around Blake’s shoulders, settling comfortably back into the bench seat. Yang was only a bit tipsy, but the endorphin rush of physical exertion and spending time with her friends carried her a lot further. 

The jingling of the bell was inaudible, but the fresh breeze that swept in brought Blake’s attention to the door. Weiss stood there, looking uncertain. She was dressed more casually than Blake had ever seen her, but her pale blue wide-leg slacks and white cold-shoulder blouse would have looked formal to anyone who wasn’t familiar with the slight blonde’s fashion tendencies. She wore platform sandals, but walked in them as easily as Blake did her combat boots. Blake rose to wave her over, and Weiss broke into a relieved smile as she made her way through the crowded room.

Pyrrha scooted to make room for another person at their table, and Blake walked over to give her friend a hug. Weiss stiffened a bit at the contact, then relaxed into it, hugging Blake back. 

“I offered you a drink— what would you like?”

As she pulled back from the embrace, Weiss looked a little flustered but pleased. “Oh, uhm… a gin martini please? No olives.” 

After directing her friend over to the table, Blake returned to the bar and placed her order with Flynt once more. As she was waiting for the simple cocktail to be made, Blake watched Weiss greet Yang happily, and begin to open up as Pyrrha talked to her with enthusiasm. Weiss was sweet, but she wore her austerity like a shield against the world. It was nice to see that frozen exterior melting under Pyrrha’s determined friendliness.

She caught the tail end of a sentence as she returned, walking carefully with a very full martini glass in her hand. 

“...Neptune was under the impression that they wouldn’t remember the noodle incident after two years. Boy was he wrong about that.” Weiss joined in the laughter kindled by her anecdote. Her giggle was soft and almost bell-like— Blake realized that she’d never actually heard her friend laugh. 

Ruby and Nora came bouncing over, talking at the same time about the new dance game the bar had recently installed. When she caught sight of the new arrival at the table, Ruby immediately clammed up, her cheeks taking on the same color as the highlights in her hair. “Uh. Hi Weiss. It’s nice to see you.”

It was strange to see the usually self-confident woman become stiff and awkward. Blake gazed between them, intrigued.

Weiss was similarly affected, her chill demeanor snapping back in place in the blink of an eye. “It’s nice to see you as well, Ruby. I hope I’m not interrupting something, Blake invited me. She didn’t mention that it was a group event.”

With a twinge of guilt, Blake winced. True, she hadn’t thought to mention the rest of them— it was just second nature of her to assume that the whole crew was a package deal. 

Yang’s arm around her shoulders tightened. She was also watching the stilted interaction. Suddenly realization flashed across her face, along with an exclamation of glee.

“Oh! OOOOHHH!” Standing up and jostling the table, Yang pointed at her sister.

“Oof, careful Yang!” Blake rescued the sloshing glasses. 

Entirely distracted by her own brilliant deduction, Yang continued to point gleefully. “I figured it out! I figured it out before you figured it out! Muahahahaha!”

Flushing even darker, Ruby glared at Yang. “Stop being such a weirdo. I’m going to the bathroom.” She stormed haughtily off. 

Weiss sat rigid, as though she had been turned to stone by pure mortification.

Settling back into her seat, Yang crossed her arms victoriously. “She thinks she can hide from me, but she can’t hide from the truth. I’ve got my eye on her.”

“Yeah, ok, whatever.” Blake nudged her with a shoulder, none too gently. “We were having a nice time. Whatever it is, you can be self-righteous about it later.”

The small, grateful look that Weiss flashed her way was reward enough. Yang huffed, shrugging and crossing her arms. “Fine. But I am right though.”

“I’m sure you are, babe. You are the best detective who ever detected.”

Yang glared with mock disdain at her lover, but, sparing a glance at Weiss’s crimson cheeks, mercifully lowered her voice. “There’s no need to be patronizing about it. Anyway, I will keep my keen observations to myself for the time being.”

When Blake leaned in to give her a kiss, the theatrical ire melted away and Yang kissed her back with delightful enthusiasm.

“Ugh, yuck you guys.” Jaune had returned from his own bathroom break, carrying another pitcher of beer and pint glasses. “Get a room!”

“Mmmmmm, maybe we will.”

“GROSS.”

The happy laughter and teasing, so alien to all of Blake’s previous experiences with relationships, felt like soothing rain. She was beginning to realize how nice it was to live without fear.

______________________________________________________________

**:Nora: lol dude what was that about????**

**:Ruby: i don’t want to talk about it**

**:Ruby: Yang is the fucking worst**

**:Nora: come out of the bathroom, I want to kick your ass at DDR again**

**:Ruby: when I’m done nursing my pride. Also you’re high if you think you can beat me, I was the DDR CHAMPION at Signal**

**:Nora: only after I graduated, nerd :P**

**:Ruby: on a completely different note, wtf is going on with Yang and Blake???**

**:Ruby: I can’t believe they’re still insisting that they aren’t a couple it’s so OBVIOUS**

**:Nora: I just wanna mush their faces together**

**:Nora: NOW KISS**

**:Ruby: bleh, they don’t need any help with that. Just left the bathroom and they’re sucking face**

**:Ruby: I bet Blake’s going to be the one that actually has the guts to confess her love first.**

**:Nora: I’LL TAKE THAT BET**

**:Nora: Yang’s got it so bad, I can almost see the eye-beams of love shooting out of her whenever she looks at Blake**

**:Ruby: but Yang is an emotionally stunted troll woman. Blake is definitely going to be the first to say something.**

**:Nora: Fifty lien says Yang’s first**

**:Ruby: YOU’RE ON**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR’S NOTES:  
> -I wrote the Hazel scene well before the most recent episode (V.8E.9, “Witch) aired. We actually paused the episode and cheered— Spoops and I have both loved Hazel since he was kind of Oscar back in Volume 4, and we were so excited to see such significant character growth!  
> -You bet your booty I looked up what that tall bit on electric trams/streetcars is called. This fic is EDUCATIONAL.  
> -I feel similarly Miss Marple-like… Though it would have been a VERY different series if Miss Marple wrote smut instead of mysteries. O.O  
> -Vacuo dramas are the K-Dramas of Remnant. Blake is currently enjoying “Two Bowls is Too Many!”, a story about a cute young noodle shop owner who attracts the attention of a handsome and exceedingly wealthy young tycoon. Their childhood best friend gets jealous and protective, and it turns out that they have loved the main character the whole time. Hijinks ensue.  
> -Most of my auto shop scenes come from anecdotes that Spoops tells me about her students.  
> -The garden and tea shop are inspired by Lan Su Garden in Portland, Oregon.  
> -A little bit of cultural history for my AU Remnant: Many of the architectural and social aspects that are similar to Japan, Korea, and China originate from Anima, Mistral in particular. As previously stated, Menagerie has characteristics of Okinawa, Thailand, and Indonesia. Due to the proximity of Menagerie and Mistral, design and cultural traditions of both continents have mixed significantly. Vacuo is a mix of the American southwest, Morocco, and Australia. Vale has elements of Canada and the UK. Mantle has Eastern European cultural traditions, while the largely colonial city of Atlas is mostly inspired by the UK and the US.  
> -HELLO SHOPKEEP. I can’t help myself, if I can use a canon character, I will. Also, he was perfect for this.  
> -There’s a lot of personal experience in this story, so thanks for joining me in my emotional healing. My mom died in a car crash just over a year ago at the point of writing this.  
> -Describing these tea snacks made me really hungry.  
> -I will 100% go into more detail about the Menagerie political intrigue in the follow-up to this fic. It’s funny, but of all the stories I have planned for this universe, this one is the most slice-of-life and tame. Like Volume 1-3 compared to all of the rest of the series.  
> -I apologize for any emotional whiplash that abrupt transition may have caused.  
> -As Spoops commented, “Tipsy Yang= absolutely no filter Yang”  
> -BE STRONG AND HIT STUFF  
> -Nora and Ren are precious babies, I love getting to write them as a couple.  
> -Blake and Weiss don’t directly interact all that much in cannon, but they are total kindred souls. Order Muppets to Yang and Ruby’s Chaos Muppets. (If you have no idea what I’m talking about, look up Muppet Theory.)


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yang’s terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RECOMMENDED LISTENING:  
> -“A letter to my younger self”, Ambar Lucid  
> -“Rollercoaster”, Bleachers

Listen to the Spotify playlist (curated by the author’s wife, @spoopsboops) [HERE](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0NAkxw0y9KBjkbqX3Yum36?si=F0JnjDVrSoG3dLea7EAGbQ).

Follow on Tumblr and Instagram @probably_momo, for art and writing updates.

If you haven’t had a chance yet, you should go and read Spoops’ prequel to this story, exploring Yang’s awkward teen years and her time with Raven. “[You Will Surely be the Death of Me (But How Could I Have Known)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29443602/chapters/72326721)”. Just in case you’re craving more of this AU when you’re done reading this chapter. ;)

______________________________________________________________

If she could have found an excuse to skip family dinner on Sunday, she would have. Sunday was hard enough as it was.

Yang had rolled reluctantly out of bed at gross-o-clock when her very rude scroll told her she needed to be at her dad’s shop in half an hour. Further complicating her efforts to extract herself from the comforting embrace of the blankets was a very warm, very snuggly Blake. Her presence turned Yang’s reluctant exodus into something akin to a wrestling match with a groggy, affectionate octopus. When she finally bribed her way free with kisses and a few well-placed pokes to ticklish spots, she had fifteen minutes to get dressed and make it over to Xiao Long Automotive.

The hulking mass of the diesel semi-truck engine currently dismantled on every available surface in the shop loomed large in her mind. Heavy duty diesel engines were fascinating, but working on engines of that scale was a battle of leverage and inches. Give her a racing bike to fine tune any day; the fiddly, delicate handwork was supremely satisfying and was a lot less likely to have her physical therapist scolding her the next week. 

Somehow, the name of Taiyang Xiao Long (and now Yang, to her bewilderment) had come to be known by the most discerning truckers that ranged the long lonely highways of Sanus, from Vacuo to Vale. If they wanted their rigs to be tuned to factory perfection, rumbling like the day they left the lot, there was only one place to go. And if they needed a few parts replaced to coax another 400,000 miles out of their rig, Xiao Long Automotive was there.

This was great news for her father’s business. He was now talking about buying the empty lot across the street from his shop, expanding out so that they could work on several trucks at once. Of course, that would involve hiring more employees; could Yang give him some suggestions, maybe from her classmates or students, who might be a good fit? 

Honestly, it was wonderful to see him so excited about something. He hadn’t been this animated since… 

Since Summer.

And that should make Yang feel happy, or at least relieved. But she was too stupid, too  _ selfish _ , to let herself ride along with his enthusiasm. It was a good thing that he was at a point where he could be excited about something that didn’t directly have to do with his daughters. Yang just felt like, with every passing day, her mom was fading further and further from the shop, the house, and from their lives.

When Tai started insinuating that Yang could join him after graduation, be part owner in the shop, she changed the topic or simply walked away. There was a lingering, terrible fear that, if she spent more time in the shop and around her dad, she would start to turn back into the uncontrollable teenage monster she was when she was eighteen. And this time he couldn’t just call in Raven when she got too out of hand.

Yang wanted to believe she had grown in some discernible way in the last five years. But she was afraid that she hadn’t, and all the time she had spent trying to find her own way would mean nothing in the face of her own self-destructive tendencies. Her dad didn’t deserve that. Ruby didn’t deserve that. Blake didn’t deserve that.

Fuck. Blake. Blake hadn’t known her when she was a resentful, lost teenager. What would the other woman think of her if she’d known just how far Yang would have gone to get a rise out of her father, or what she was willing to do to try and win her long-lost mother’s love? 

A little over two months of getting more and more entangled in each others’ lives, finding the unnoticed empty places that they could expand to fill. Blake had the coveted spare key to Yang’s dorm (Ruby had been more than a little reluctant to give it up, but handed it over gleefully when Yang admitted it was for Blake). Yang now knew that, if no one was home at Blake’s house, she could let herself into the back yard and through the always-unlocked back door. Two months of something neither of them wanted to verbally acknowledge because, if they put it into words, it might vanish like fog in the warmth of day.

Lights were visible through the high shop windows when Yang pulled up to the curb in front of Xiao Long Automotive. She took her time locking up her bike, though she never would have admitted to the undercurrent of apprehension that coursed through her. Inside she heard the sound of a dog whining, and then the barking started. Nothing for it now, with the welcoming committee so thoughtfully announcing her arrival. Yang steeled herself and opened the door.

A small, surprisingly heavy furry body flung itself against her shins. Zwei made an admirable attempt at climbing up and into her arms. It didn’t take long for Yang to take pity on the corgi’s stumpy legs and reach down to scoop him up against her. She laughed and dodged Zwei’s concerted efforts to lick her face, holding him firmly as he wriggled and whined.

“I think he uses all of his energy when you girls stop by to visit. He spends the rest of the time napping.” Tai was sitting on a stool next to the wide workbench at the back of the shop. He had a mug of steaming coffee halfway to his mouth, and as he watched his eldest daughter wrestle with the geriatric corgi he finished the trip and took a long sip. 

“I hope there’s more of that somewhere—I had a hell of a time getting out of bed this morning.”

“Mmmhmm, I can see that.” With a teasing half-smile, Tai tapped the side of his throat.

Yang flushed, hand flying up to the mark. It was mostly hidden under the tall collar of her work flannel, but she knew that it had to stand out starkly against her pale skin. The ones further down certainly did.

During Yang’s moment of supreme embarrassment, Tai had turned and snagged the spare tin mug off of the shelf behind him. He filled it with hot black coffee from a large thermos, sliding the mug over to Yang as she approached.

“Hey, I was young once.”

“Theoretically, yes, but I have yet to see the proof.”

The bantering was easy and warm, like a broken-in boot or a leather glove. It was safe and superficial. She could do this.

Thankfully, beyond those gentle prods, it would seem that Tai was in a quiet mood that morning. They worked together for the next six hours in relative silence, broken only by monosyllabic inquiries or direction. It almost reached the point of a moving meditation for Yang, her hands knowing what to do before her brain had a chance to catch up. She was so focused on getting the irritatingly precise measurements necessary to set the valve lash that she didn’t notice that Tai had left until the smell of fresh coffee heralded his return. After one last minute tweak Yang stepped back, wiping her grimy hands on the even grimier seat of her coveralls. 

There was fresh coffee, as expected, and two large ham and cheese sandwiches with a side of chips and some carrot sticks. The carrot sticks were a hold out from her childhood— if there were chips, there always had to be something healthy to go with them. Summer’s rule. How could it be that, ten years later, seeing some vegetables on a paper plate would make her sad? Tai was busy clearing off a workbench to serve as a table, a gentle, contented smile on his face. Maybe it gave him peace to do what she would have done. Or maybe it was just habit now, and he didn’t remember at all.

Yang reached out to pick up her refilled mug of coffee, but when Tai saw the state of her palms he withdrew the offered mug and nodded towards the sink and the pumice scrub. With a grimace Yang marched off to wash her hands.

______________________________________________________________

If she could have found an excuse to skip family dinner on Sunday, she would have. But she had skipped out the last two Sundays in a row. If she missed another she wouldn’t just have to deal with her dad’s disappointment, she’d have to deal with Ruby’s too.

No matter how busy any of them were, they always took time to sit down at the little kitchen table in her dad’s house and eat a proper meal together. Meatloaf, a casserole, maybe chili or stew, always accompanied by salad or steamed vegetables, choice of chocolate or vanilla ice cream for dessert. Take and bake rolls in the bread basket, steaming fresh from the oven. Tai sometimes joked that, if it weren’t for his girls coming by on Sunday, he’d never have a reason to clean the house. Yang laughed along with him until the day that she realized it wasn’t really a joke, it was the truth. 

Qrow visited Tai sometimes. They’d sit on the back porch and drink iced tea, the heavy silence of two people who carried the memory of four. Tai would go out with some of his friends from his college days, but he never had them over. So, yeah, his girls were the reason he tidied his house. Yang was just grateful he’d come back from the point where his girls were the only reason he got up, got dressed, ate. And maybe she was a little resentful of the span of her youth lost to being other people’s reason. 

She wouldn’t miss another Sunday night dinner because, as much as she quietly dreaded the things that might be said (or left conspicuously unsaid), she needed to reassure herself that things could be better. There would be a time, someday, when she didn’t feel the weight of her own mistakes hanging like a stone around her neck. When she would look at the wrinkles in the corners of her dad’s eyes and remember the smiles that put them there instead of the worry, anger, pain.

Yang headed back to her dorm to get properly cleaned up. When she arrived Blake was gone, leaving only a rack of clean dishes next to the sink, a well-made bed, and the tantalizing aroma of jasmine hanging in the air. It was for the best, really. If Blake had still been there, the temptation to blow off another Sunday night dinner would have been too great. 

Shedding her grease and sweat-stained clothes like a second skin, Yang stepped blissfully into the scalding hot shower. At first she just stood, letting the force of the water beat the grime from her skin. Then she set to the bothersome task of washing her disagreeable mane of hair. It took far more shampoo and elbow-grease than most people would have thought possible. Even those who had, over the years, questioned why she kept her hair so long, would have been stunned to learn the amount of effort Yang put into the upkeep of her literal crowning glory. 

She had kept it the length it was, just past her waist, since she was a very young child. Yang could remember how distraught she had been when, as an elementary school student, she had gotten a massive wad of gum stuck in her hair. Summer had tried just about everything to get it out, and had ultimately convinced Yang to let her cut the gum out. The bangs weren’t very even, but she’d liked them so much she pestered Summer to cut them again when they grew out again.

When she was older she realized another way her hair could be inconvenient; during a scuffle behind the school, inspired by some meaningless slight, the boy she was fighting had grabbed a handful of it and yanked her head back violently. He then found out just how quickly Yang could finish a fight when properly motivated. It wasn’t the last time someone grabbed her hair in a fight, but it never surprised her again. It became a ruse, the shiny gold lure that urged her opponent to get in close.

In the shop she had to be more careful than ever. Long strands caught in a lathe or lit by a stray spark would spell disaster. She braided it tightly and tucked the braid down the back of her coveralls. With her cap pulled snugly down around her ears no dangerous hairs could escape.

Why did she keep it then, if it took so much time and could be a liability in her chosen field? A measure of stubborn defiance in the face of a world that expected her to conform to a certain mode of appearance. A bit of well-hidden vanity as well, delighting in the way her hair tumbled and curled into a style of its own making. She didn’t indulge herself in much, but she loved her hair.

When she stepped out of the shower and reached for a towel, Yang was reminded of one of the most consistent nuisances of having so much hair. It soaked up water like a sponge and weighed a fucking ton. Hair dryers were the best invention ever.

At twenty past six Yang pushed through the front door of the little bungalow next to the shop. Ruby looked up from where she sat on the living room rug, scratching Zwei’s upturned belly. She crooked an eyebrow at her sister. 

_ You’re in for it now, _ that look said.

“Yang! If this lasagna is burned because it sat in the oven too long waiting for you to get here, you are taking all of the leftovers home with you!” Tai appeared in the doorway, silhouetted by the light from the kitchen. He waved a potholder at his wayward oldest child, but she could also see he was smiling. “Just for that, you get to set the table.”

“Awww, seriously? It’s Ruby’s turn.”

“I set the table last Sunday and the one before, it’s definitely your turn.”

She knew it wasn’t meant as a jab, but Yang winced inwardly at the reminder of her dereliction of familial duty. She gathered the silverware and the place mats, completing her task with no further argument. 

There were some darker patches of cheese on the top of the lasagna, which Tai lamented and Ruby rejoiced. She liked her cheese crispy and was horrified when her father suggested that he could scrape those bits into the garbage or feed them to Zwei. Toasty cheese aside, everything else on the table was homey and heavenly. 

Yang buttered a roll and helped herself to some salad while her sister and her dad debated the minutiae of proper lasagna preparation. The heated discussion concluded with Tai challenging Ruby to make dinner the next week.

“I’ll make the best dang dinner you’ve ever had! Just you wait!” It didn’t seem to matter to Ruby that all of her previous cooking attempts had involved smoke alarms and, on one memorable occasion, the use of the small household fire extinguisher. Her enthusiasm and her competitive streak were truly boundless.

A positive outcome in the face of the grim prospect of Ruby’s cooking was the fact that, in the heat of the moment, Yang’s tardiness and previous absences seemed to be forgotten. The lasagna was delicious, and, when prompted, Yang was happy to talk about her classes and her projects. She and Ruby traded off filling Tai in on the latest news about their friends. Tai laughed fondly at the tale of the celebration they had for Jaune, wanted to know how Nora and Pyrrha’s classes were going, and was pleased to hear that Ren and Nora were looking for an apartment together.

“What’s Nora planning to do after she graduates?” Tai’s tone was conspicuously neutral.

Two could play at that game. Yang cut herself a bite of lasagna with the side of her fork, expression schooled equally bland. “I don’t know, I haven’t asked her.”

Ruby snorted, glancing between them with a look of amusement mixed with annoyance. “Well,  _ I _ know what she’s planning to do. She’s been looking at some of the large-scale auto shops around town, but she hasn’t found one she likes yet. You should talk to her, Dad, if you’re serious about hiring another employee.” 

“I don’t know if she’d be interested in working here after she graduates— it’s not a big state of the art garage with all of the latest tools. She could probably get a much better paying job elsewhere, doing much more interesting work on newer machines.” Sea blue eyes rested on Yang, and Tai absently stroked the small, well-groomed tuft of hair on his chin. 

Sighing, Yang made eye contact with her father. She was tired of being nudged, prodded, and guessed at. “I know you’re not just talking about Nora. You’re not even being subtle about it this time.” She gathered her plate and her silverware, appetite gone. “No, I don’t know what I’m doing after graduation. I know I should have some sort of plan by now. In less that a month I’m going to be done with school and I don’t have a fucking clue what I’m doing with my life.” She stood up, pushing her chair back so quickly that it rocked on two legs before clattering back onto all four once more. She scraped the last scraps of cheese and noodles into Zwei’s bowl, and the rest into the garbage.

“I’m sorry, firecracker.” Big hands gently took the dirty plate from her. Tai rinsed it off carefully, placing it next to the sink to scrub later. “You don’t have to have your whole life figured out right now, you know. You’re only twenty three, you’ve got a lot of exploring and experimenting to do.”

Yang leaned heavily against the counter, eyes shut and hands clenched. Her chest felt tight, her skin felt tingly and oversensitive. She didn’t want to snap at her dad, but she felt like the only way the conversation would end was with one of them shouting and the other storming away. When she spoke, her voice was thick with poorly contained emotion. “I know that. I really do. But…” How could she say it without hurting him? “I don’t know if working here, with you, would be good for either of us.”

“I get it. I just want you to know, no matter what, you always have a place here. Both of you do.” 

“Oh, you don’t have to involve me in this little discussion. I’m going to take Zwei for a walk, you work it out between yourselves.”

There was the jingle of Zwei’s collar and the excited scrabbling of toenails on the linoleum, the front door opened and closed. It was silent in the little house. The sun was slanting in through the window over the sink— Yang could feel its warmth against her cheek. The squeak of the faucet and running water, footsteps around the room and a clatter of dishes and cutlery. She opened her eyes and exhaled slowly, then joined her father at the sink to help him wash the dishes.

The plates were washed and in the drying rack. Leftovers were wrapped up and the baking pan was soaking in the sink. Tai snagged a beer from the fridge and offered one to Yang. She considered it for a moment, then shook her head. There was a half of a term paper on accessibility designing her computer, waiting for her to finish it, and Yang only had so much emotional vulnerability she could handle in front of her dad and her sister. 

“I mean it though, Yang. You are always welcome here and at the shop. If you want to find a big shop with all the fancy gadgets, I totally understand. If you want to set up your own shop I’d be more than happy to help out.”

She nodded, mute. It was terrifying to think about the infinite possibilities that lay before her. It would be so easy to fuck up again, to end up with no other options than to turn tail and run back home. Yang didn’t want that— she wanted to prove that she could make it, not just to him but to herself. She massaged the muscle in her right forearm, kneading at the knots that the day of hard work had built up.

“How’s physical therapy going? You’ve been pushing pretty hard lately.”

A crooked smile pulled at her mouth. “It’s okay. My D.O. says that it’s almost as good as new. Dr. Polendina told me that I can’t really expect more than 80% of my previous strength or mobility on that side, so almost is about all I’m gonna get.” She spread her fingers wide, watching as they trembled from the stretch and muscle fatigue.

“...How about the other therapist? The one Ruby found? She sounded like she might be a good fit—“

“Dammit Dad!” The humming ember of her temper flared to life, stoked by her frustration and fear. “I told you both to let up on that! They can’t help me, none of them have and none of them will!” Her fist thudded into the countertop, the spark of pain in her knuckles centering her. Yang straightened, trying and failing to keep the hurt out of her face. She turned and marched towards the door, grabbing her jacket and helmet off of the couch as she passed.

“Where are you going?!”

“Home! Where, at the very least, no one is talking about me behind my back!” She slammed out the door, almost colliding head on with Ruby, who had just turned up the walk. 

“Oh crap!”

“Watch where you’re going!”

Zwei barked in worry at the tension in Yang’s voice, straining at the leash to try and jump up on her. 

“Fuck, sorry Rubes. Just… Have a nice night, okay?” Yang jammed her helmet over her head and hopped onto her bike. As she pulled away she could see Ruby in her wing mirror, holding Zwei in her arms. She looked small and lonely in the moonlight.

______________________________________________________________

If Yang had found some reason to skip family dinner on Sunday night, she might have woken up in a better mood on Monday morning. She woke up alone, which shouldn’t have been a surprise as she went to bed alone, but she was becoming accustomed to the comforting presence of Blake nearby. Her dorm felt smaller, cluttered but alien to her in a manner that she couldn’t quite place.

She got dressed quickly, deciding that a solo morning run might be just the thing to get her blood pumping and her endorphins flowing. Despite the fact that it was late spring, the air outside was chilly and a low fog clung to the trees and pavement. It was the kind of fog that drenched, and, sure enough, her hoodie was clinging to her back within the first quarter mile. 

Without any conscious effort on Yang’s part, her route swung towards Feelin’ Perky. She redirected, ignoring the confused look of a dog-walker as she dodged around him for a second time, running in the opposite direction. The now-familiar comfort of the coffee shop was a siren song, but Yang didn’t want to subject Blake to her crappy mood. Besides, she would be seeing Blake later in the day; at two thirty they were doing a final fitting of the garments Yang would be modeling on the runway in a little less than two weeks.

Back through campus, the open quad ghostly in the mist-filtered morning light. It was relatively early still, not a lot of students or faculty out on the sidewalks or crossing the rolling grassy greens. It could also be that they were more sensible than Yang, avoiding the damp instead of purposefully going out in it. Her new path took her past the little natural grocery store on the other side of campus, where she paused to get a green juice and a double shot of espresso. She threw back the espresso, then headed back towards her dorm at a slightly slower pace. By the time she made it home the only sign of the mist was the damp that still plastered her hair to her face. 

Changed once more, not bothering to shower since she would just be showering again before she went to Blake’s studio, Yang headed off towards the Spring Hall. Monday morning was the Intro to Auto Repair class and she would be damned if she gave Cordovin the chance to slip out on her again. 

Between Yang’s mood and Professor Cordovin’s perpetual dislike of humanity in general, even the worst troublemakers in the group decided that it was not the day to test the shark-filled waters. It was also getting dangerously close to finals, and none of them could afford to miss out on the points provided by their in-class projects. This made for a surprisingly relaxing three hour lab session, Yang moving between the pairs to answer questions or provide a third pair of hands. By the time it was over she was almost feeling normal again. She thumped one of the guys on the shoulder as she passed, heading back to the office to grab her stuff. 

There was time enough for her to shower, eat some lunch, and get a few more paragraphs written on her paper before she needed to head over to the Autumn Hall. She opened all of the windows in her dorm before she left, hoping that the fresh air would make the room feel slightly less claustrophobic on her return.

It was lovely out, warm, but with a light breeze to keep it from being oppressive. It would have been an easy walk across campus, but Yang opted to take her bike and follow a circuitous course through the neighborhood, ending up in the parking lot to the east of the fine arts building. She sat on her motorcycle, helmet in her hands, basking in the heat of the afternoon sun. She envisioned the rays baking into every corner of her mind, burning out the shades of fear and anger. 

The inside of the Autumn Hall rang like a cathedral with voices and footsteps. Yang felt like she must stick out like a sore thumb, a drab starling among a multitude of peacocks. Activity flowed around her, completely undisturbed by her presence as she trotted up the winding stair to the third floor fashion studio. 

Yang made it through the door to the classroom, closing it firmly and leaned back against it. She exhaled a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding, then straightened and looked around the room. Several more pairs of eyes than she had been expecting gazed at her in range of emotions from startled to irritated to apathetic. Somehow it hadn’t occurred to her that there would be other students in the studio— Blake had always chosen times to meet there when it would be less occupied, maybe out of her own aversion to crowds, but also in consideration of Yang’s comfort with being measured and prodded around strangers. Now, at the end of the term, there really wasn’t a time when they could be the only ones in the room. Everyone was working right up until the last minute to get their garments completed.

Most of the class was unfamiliar; Coco and their girlfriend were nowhere to be seen, thank goodness. Scarlet studied her for a moment from the far corner, then returned to the pile of fabric he was sorting through on his cutting table. Blake had her back to the door. She was bent over her sewing machine, delicately feeding a light, gauzy-looking fabric under the needle. Yang crossed over to her, pointedly ignoring the furtive glances she continued to receive.

“Just give me a second, this is really fiddly.” Blake didn’t look up from her careful work, but her tone was warm. 

Yang admired the finished coat that Blake had been working on during their study session at the tea house, now hanging elegantly on the Neptune-shaped dress form. She might not know how, exactly, it had been put together, but even her untrained eye could see how much work had gone into every stitch and bead. 

A slim arm wrapped around her waist and Blake pressed in at Yang’s side until she had to lift her arm to accommodate the shorter woman’s presence. Blake considered the garment as well, though, if the knit of her eyebrows was any indication, her inspection was far more critical than Yang’s.

“That’s really impressive. I can’t believe you finished that.”

The familiar low, self-deprecatory chuckle. “Honestly, neither can I. This project has been hell on my sleep schedule, though I know I don’t have to tell you that.” Blake’s voice was pitched so that only Yang could hear her, and she gave Yang a half-hug with the encircling arm before she stepped away. 

Following Blake back over to the work table, Yang was met with an armload of clothing and instructions to go to the mobile changing tent that was set up against the far wall. 

“Try on the gown first. Here, this one— careful, there are still pins in the skirt.” 

It was made out of silk, the kind with the intentionally rough weave that shifted color in the light. There was beading and decorative stitching around all of the edges, and it had far too many parts, in Yang’s opinion, to be simply called a gown. She sorted out the top and the skirt, but she was at a loss with what to do with the long length of embellished cloth that accompanied it. She gave up on it, opting to drape it over her arm and return to Blake for assistance. 

“Oh thank the gods, I was so afraid the bust wouldn’t fit.” Blake helped her wrap and arrange the long strip so that it wound from her waist up and over her left shoulder, where it fell in a graceful tumble of glinting threads and shivering beads. Unphased by Yang’s black bra straps that stood out in harsh contrast to the pale yellow of the sleeveless top, Blake walked around her, assessing. She jotted businesslike notes in one corner of her sketchbook, delicately repositioned the pins that held the side-seam of the skirt, and nodded briskly. “Excellent, thank you. You can try the slacks and vest next.”

Yang did as instructed, moving with extra care as she removed the precious fabric. She was painfully aware of how much of Blake’s literal blood, sweat, and tears had gone into the clothes. There in her hands was the culmination of four years of learning and more than a normal amount of innate talent. It was only moderately terrifying to consider the trust that Blake was putting in her not to mess everything up.

The green slacks were a bit large and the vest was still open at the sides so that it could be fitted to her frame. Underneath she wore a peasant-style top with floating, diaphanous sleeves that closed with delicate glass buttons at the cuff. Yang fumbled a bit with the closure— the fingers of her right hand started trembling again, but she grumbled curses at herself until she managed to get them fastened. 

Fluttering around her with an exacting eye, Blake noted how much to take in the waistband of the pants and where to sew up the sides of the vest for a perfect fit. Her careful attention to detail also fell upon the tremor in Yang’s right hand as she extended her arms for the fitting of the vest. Blake dropped her chalk onto the table and carefully caught Yang’s hand in both of hers. Yang grimaced, wishing she could will her weakness out of existence.

“Is it painful?”

“No. Well, a bit, but I’m used to it.”

“Have you taken anything for it? An anti-inflammatory or anything?”

Of course she hadn’t. Yang had simply distracted herself from it, knowing that the second she acknowledged the dull ache it would no longer be something she could ignore.

“I’ve got ibuprofen in my purse, would that help?”

Embarrassed by the fuss, she nodded in assent and reclaimed her hand when Blake dashed off to dig through her backpack-style purse. The bottle of over-the-counter anti-inflammatories was produced and Blake shook two out into her palm, presenting them and a bottle of water for Yang’s use. “I hope you don’t mind my cooties, I don’t have any other water. There’s a fountain out in the hall if you’d prefer it.”

The absurdity of her being at all concerned by Blake’s ‘cooties’ made Yang smile. She accepted the tablets and the water, swallowing them down. “I’ll be fine. Just did a little too much yesterday.”

“Yeah yeah, big tough Yang ‘Pain Don’t Hurt’ Xiao Long. Give yourself a break every once in a while. As much as you hate to admit it, you’re only human.”

“...Says the girl who has been running on five and a half hours of sleep a night for the last month straight.”

Blake punched Yang lightly in her good arm. “The difference is, I know my limits and I’m pushing them on purpose, for a finite stretch of time. You don’t want to admit you have limits, so you beat yourself black and blue against the invisible boundary of what is possible and get mad at yourself when you hurt afterwards.”

Handing back the water bottle, Yang carefully shrugged out of the now thoroughly pinned vest and draped it on the table. “What, you’re my therapist now too?” She meant it as a joke, but it came out harsher than she had intended. Feeling stupid and petty, Yang retreated to the changing room to put on the last outfit. The buttons on the cuffs were only slightly less difficult to open than they were to close.

The final garment was the shorter dress with structural, petal-like elements that extended off of the bodice in dramatic points. Matching beadwork gave the appearance of gathered dew shimmering along the petal edges. The sleeves were a very fine nude mesh, also decorated with the droplets of beads along their lengths, and the buttons were just as tiny and slippery as the last ones. Frustration at her own ludicrous incompetence redoubled with idiotic, cheap irritation at Blake for making the damn things so hard to close. The zipper in the back was impossible, but Yang stubbornly kept at the fine buttons until she managed to do them up properly. 

When she emerged she saw a glimmer of confused hurt on Blake’s face, before the other woman carefully schooled her features to pleasant neutrality.

“I can’t do up the zipper, could you…?”

“Of course.” Blake moved around behind her, cool fingers brushing Yang’s skin as she slid the zipper closed. “Anything else? How’s the fit of the sleeves?”

When prompted, Yang carefully rolled her shoulders against the fragile fabric, waiting to hear any ripping or popping stitches. It held, much to her relief.

Resuming her careful inspection of the fit of the dress, Blake broke the silence between them with a quiet murmur. “I’m not a therapist, Yang, but I am a living, breathing testament to the fact that therapy works. It’s scary to open yourself up to a objective stranger, gods it’s fucking terrifying, but I think you need someone who can help you acknowledge what you’re really feeling.”

“It sounds like you’ve been talking to Ruby. Or my dad. I don’t need a fucking therapist, Blake, I just need people to stop telling me what I  _ should _ do to deal with my godsdamned problems. I know what I should do, I should just get the fuck over it because it’s ruining my life!”

Yang stormed back to the changing room, hyper aware of the fact that, once more, all eyes in the room were fixed on her. To her inward horror, Blake followed behind her. “You don’t need to fucking follow me!” She hissed under her breath.

“You can’t undo the zipper. Also, I’m impressed you managed with those buttons yourself, I figured I would help you with them.” The other woman’s voice was also pitched low, the fake pleasantness of it grating on Yang’s nerves.

“I don’t need any help, I’m not a damn child!” To prove her point she reached painfully over her shoulder and snagged the little tab of the zipper, yanking it down sharply. It went about halfway before the runner caught on a fold of fabric and refused to go any further. 

“You could have fooled me, the way you’re acting right now.” The false politeness broke under the strain, and the bitterness in that usually soothing voice tore at her. Those familiar, cool hands brushed her away from the fastener, gently reversing it and then sliding it all the way down. Yang turned her attention to the buttons on the cuffs, emotion making her even clumsier as she struggled to undo them. This time when Blake reached out to help, Yang jerked away as though burned.

The tension was too much for the fabric— with a dreadful ripping sound, the flimsy mesh tore away from the band of the cuff. Yang panicked, fighting even harder to remove the fabric. The button popped free, ricocheting off of Blake’s outstretched fingers and disappearing under the cloth curtain of the changing tent.

“What the hell, Yang? Calm down!” Blake’s voice was defensive, sharper than she’d ever heard it.

“Shit, fuck— I can’t— shit, I’m sorry, I just—“ Yang wasn’t sure how she managed to get the other cuff undone without ripping it too, but she had it off and the dress up over her head before the shocked Blake had a chance to respond. She yanked her t-shirt on and slid into her jeans, stuffing her feet into her boots. “Fuck Blake, I’m so sorry, I gotta go.”

Panic drove her blindly down the stairs, her boots loose on her ankles and her leather jacket over only one shoulder. She’d done it. The thing she had been working so hard to avoid had happened, and now she was running away from it. Under pressure she snapped like a twig. Blake didn’t deserve to have any of this shit thrown on her, and Yang had made the mistake of letting her in too close. An innocent bystander to Yang’s unreasonable implosion, Blake had been hit with the emotional shrapnel, and she had every right to be angry about it. She had every right to hate Yang, to never want to see her again.

It took her three tries to get the motorcycle started, but when she finally did she turned the bike towards the main road and took off, no destination in mind, no direction but the need to get away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR’S NOTES:  
> -My darlings, this was another tough one. When I started posting this work (way back at the beginning of November, holy fuck), I was 8-10 chapters ahead for the first couple of months. The surplus kept me ahead for a while, but now I’m writing the chapters the week before I post them. This week I had a migraine that lasted 5 days— well, it’s still going. I got this chapter written regardless, though, surprisingly, my own terrible mood didn’t actually help me write Yang’s. Anyway, TL;DR I finished this chapter under the wire and feel like warm garbage, so consider this my self-deprecatory disclaimer after the fact.  
> -Zwei is the goodest boi who ever was. I appreciate him providing a little levity in the course of this very uncomfortable chapter. (Also, I may have had to promise Spoops a corgi someday as part of the delicate diplomacy involved in getting her to marry me.)  
> -C’mon Blake, you’re not 16 anymore. Stop chewing up Yang’s neck.   
> -Grief triggers are weird, chums.  
> -In this chapter I finally get to explore the only relationship that endures regardless of AU— Yang + her hair = OTP.  
> -Ruby is so done with family bullshit.  
> -Don’t drive when you’re upset.  
> -The interaction regarding the pain in Yang’s arm is pretty much directly cribbed from frequent conversations between Spoops and me regarding my migraines. I warned her that a section in this chapter would infuriate her. While beta-reading it for me, she called from the other room, “You’re right, I’m furious!”  
> -That is indeed a Roadhouse quote. Blake is a closet Swayze fan.  
> -DON’T DRIVE WHEN YOU’RE UPSET.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blake picks up the pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RECOMMENDED LISTENING:  
> -“Mother and Father”, Broods  
> -“Clementine”, Halsey

Listen to the Spotify playlist (curated by the author’s wife, @spoopsboops) [HERE](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0NAkxw0y9KBjkbqX3Yum36?si=F0JnjDVrSoG3dLea7EAGbQ).

Follow on Tumblr and Instagram @probably_momo, for art and writing updates.

______________________________________________________________

Blake stood in the empty dressing room, her left hand still slightly outstretched. Reaching for a hand that was no longer there. 

Slowly, reality started to trickle back into her numbed senses. The sound of work-room bustle, the hum of a sewing machine, and quiet conversation crashed over her like a breaking wave. Blake swayed as though struck, then knelt to scoop the abandoned gown off of the floor. It looked forlorn, no longer animated by the lithe body whose warmth still clung to its fabric. She clutched the dress to her, cradling it like a broken wing.

The button. She had to find the button. Blake stumbled out of the makeshift changing room and dropped to her knees, searching. The buttons on the gown were some that she had found at a flea market the summer before; magically, just enough to finish the dress, but none to spare.

“I found it over there by the wastebasket. It must have had some velocity.” Scarlet was kneeling next to her, one hand held out towards her. The facets of the pale glass button gleamed in his palm. This had to be a trick. 

But, searching his face for deception, she found only understanding and a gentleness that she had never before witnessed from the sharp tongued, sharp edged man. She took the button warily from his hand, and he carefully pulled her to her feet. 

His gaze lit upon the gown and he reached out, gently catching the abused sleeve. Scarlet inspected it with the critical eye of a craftsman, turning it over to see the extent of the damage.

“That’s not too bad. If you have extra seam allowance in the armscye you can let it out and it won’t even change the length of the sleeve. The only thing you’ll have to worry about is the delicacy of the fabric when you seam-rip the cuff.”

Blake blinked at him, her brain still catching up to this strange turn of events. Scarlet was being nice. To her. Had hell frozen over? Or was she in such a pitiful state that even he felt sorry for her?

“I know. It’ll be fine. I’ll take care of it.” She turned to go back to her work station, but a gentle touch to her shoulder made her pause. She looked back up, startled, golden gaze meeting serious green. 

“Let me know if you need anything.”

She nodded, her motions feeling jerky, puppet-like. Back at her space, Blake draped the gown on the work table and collapsed onto the stool. She didn’t know what to think. She didn’t know how to feel.

Yang had blown up at her— no, that wasn’t quite right. Yang had imploded, collapsing like a dying star and bringing everything crashing down with her. And then she ran. 

Blake wasn’t used to being the one left behind. She had always been the one to run. From Adam, from her parents, from Menagerie, even from Ilia. Now she was left standing, holding the loose ends and broken pieces. Wondering if it was even possible to put the pieces back together again. 

A soft sound echoed from beneath the pile of discarded clothes, set aside so that Blake could apply the necessary alterations. It sounded again, a plaintive mechanical bell that signified something… Something…

Yang’s scroll. In her hurry she had left it behind. Blake sprung for the pile, digging down to the bottom to find the little device. When she slid open the screen she was met with a passcode lock— she swore under her breath. But the screen also showed a notification. “ _One missed call from RUBES”._ Holding her breath, Blake tapped the icon and brought the scroll to her ear.

A few rings, then—

“You know what? I changed my mind. Call Dad first and apologize to _him_ , then you can apologize to me.”

“Wait Ruby, don’t hang up!”

“...Blake? Why do you have Yang’s scroll? Are you okay?”

“I’m not— It’s not me. Ruby, Yang left her scroll here. I don’t know what to do, I don’t know where she went, I hoped she was with you. She was so upset…”

The other end of the line was silent. Then Ruby took a deep breath. “Where are you now, Blake? Can I meet up with you?”

“I’m at the studio— the Autumn Hall. Yes, You can meet me here. I just… need to tidy up.”

“I’ll be there in five.”

Four and a half minutes later, Blake stepped out of the side stairwell of the Autumn Hall into the heartlessly cheerful afternoon sun. Two honks in quick succession brought her attention to the instructors parking lot. A tiny green electric car was double parked next to the sidewalk, Ruby waving enthusiastically as she beeped the horn again. 

Folding herself in half to sit in the passenger seat, Blake surveyed the interior of the tiny vehicle in confusion. “Is this… your car?”

“Nah, I don’t have a car— I borrowed Penny’s.”

“You have a license though, right?”

“Eehhh, sort of. It’s fine.” Ruby flapped her hand dismissively at Blake’s concern. “Never mind that, what happened with Yang? You said she left?”

Taking a deep, centering breath, Blake did her best to sum up everything that had happened since Yang had appeared in the studio only an hour previous. She didn’t realize she was crying until Ruby offered her a flimsy fast food restaurant napkin to dry her face. When she got to the part where she asked Yang about therapy, Ruby flopped back in her seat and breathed out a resigned monosyllable. 

“Okay, it makes sense now.”

“It…does?”

The younger woman pinched the bridge of her nose, eyes closed and expression exasperated. “You, my lovely friend, stepped right in the middle of a landmine, conveniently re-activated by an argument she had with Dad last night. Our Yang is nothing if not consistent.”

Blake pleated the corner of the soggy napkin between her fingers, her mind foggy with regret and fear. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—“

“No, of course you didn’t. To be honest, it sounds like you did what anyone would do if someone was being emotionally volatile at them. You bit back to protect yourself.” Now Ruby turned to face her, the confines of the small vehicle bowing her head slightly. “Blake, you aren’t the reason Yang was upset. Yang’s been angry for as long as I can remember, she just hid it better when we were younger. She stopped listening to me when all I could say to her was something she didn’t want to hear. She stopped listening to Dad when she was a dumb teenager, and of course he didn’t make the situation any better. Honestly, she’s been so much more open, so much more _Yang,_ since you came into the picture. But you don’t deserve to have her throw her garbage at you any more than I do, or Dad does.”

It seemed harsh to Blake, but she didn’t feel she was in a position to object. She stared at her hands, white-knuckled, in her lap. The tears had stopped, thank gods, but they swam at the edge of her vision, threatening to reappear with the slightest provocation. Ruby didn’t seem mad at her, which was a blessing. She did seem mad at Yang though, and, in spite of the events of the last hour, Blake felt herself riling protectively at any harsh comment made about the absent blonde.

“...None of that matters right now, Ruby. Do you know where she is?”

“Pppffff, ‘none of it matters’.” Making a face and shrugging melodramatically, “Yeah, I think I know where she went. It’s not that far away.” Ruby threw the little car into reverse, pulling out of the parking lot at slightly faster than would be advisable.

No further explanation seemed forthcoming and she didn’t feel like pressing the issue. Blake slumped against the door and tried to take what comfort she could from the cool glass against her flushed cheek.

The two sisters were alike in one aspect, Blake soon came to realize. They both liked to push the speed limit, but drove with such precision and care that the speed limit seemed like a rather unreasonable suggestion at best. That didn’t stop Blake from yelping, whiteknuckled, when Ruby dashed through the tail end of a yellow light. The younger woman chuckled, but her gaze was locked responsibly on the road.

“Who did you think taught me how to drive?”

Blake gave her chauffeur a side eyed glare. “...Begging the question that you ever _learned_ in the first place.”

“Pshaw, I’ve never killed anybody while driving.” She let the specificity hang on its own, allowing herself an amused grin. “We’re almost there.”

 _There_ , it seemed, was a small building, jammed between a thrift store and a family chain restaurant. It could have been an auto body shop at one time, given the rolling garage door on the front, but it had long since traded out that purpose for another. A simple sign slanted out over the door read “Lucky Shot Gym”. No lights were on inside and a small cardboard sign in the window rather redundantly proclaimed CLOSED. Blake’s stomach did a horrible, wonderful swoop of joy— a familiar yellow and black motorcycle was pulled up at the curb.

“I’ll wait out here if you want.”

Blake was halfway out the door. She paused and over her shoulder at Ruby. She was Yang’s sister, probably the closest person in the world to Yang aside from Pyrrha. She had more right than anyone to go in and find Yang, hug her, yell at her for causing such fear… But she was offering it to Blake, instead. “Are you sure?”

“Dude, she does _not_ want to see me right now. And I am pretty damn sure there’s no one she’d rather see than you, as much as she might say otherwise.” Ruby pulled out her scroll and leaned the driver seat back to a comfortable angle, the picture of modern relaxation. “Just leave something for me to yell at when you’re done, okay?”

That actually brought a smile to Blake’s face, though it was a weak approximation of joy. She waved lightly at the other girl, glanced left and right, and dashed across the street to the door. As she reached for the door handle it swung towards her, and she did a quick sidestep to avoid being struck by the frame.

“Oop, sorry about that.” The man she now faced was a good foot taller than she was, though his shoulders hunched forward with a posture that seemed to describe a lifetime of aggressively not giving a shit about anything. His dark hair was shot with grey at the temples and he wore the scruffy goatee of someone who shaved in a pocket mirror, but his face was youthful and handsome. His eyes were a shockingly red shade of brown, but the shape was familiar, as were the wild waves of his short hair. 

Yang and Ruby’s uncle stepped to the side, holding the door open for her. He called over his shoulder into the dark room beyond, “I’ll be right outside if you need me, firecracker.” Then he gave Blake a gentle, understanding smile, tilting his head to suggest that Blake enter.

She did, and the door swung shut behind her with a gentle jingle of bells. It was cool, quiet, and dark inside the building. A stretch of canvas tatami spread away from her, carpeting the whole square room, and Blake instinctively bent to undo her laces and tug off her sneakers. The pair of scuffed leather combat boots by the wall sent her stomach to her throat, and she took a bit longer than was necessary to arrange her shoes next to them, trying to calm the quaver of her voice.

Sitting in the far corner of the room, knees hugged to her chest and face hidden behind them, was Yang.

Blake padded hesitantly across the mats, stopping four feet away from the other woman.

“Yang? Can I come closer?”

A small, almost imperceptible nod of the bowed blonde head. Blake approached and knelt next to Yang. A deep inhale, like she was about to speak, then nothing. Silence, like a question mark written by a tremulous hand, hung thick around them.

Finally, a voice that seemed to be reaching out from very far away. “I don’t think I can do this. I’m scared.”

“Me too.” Blake leaned against the mirrored wall, gazing up into the shadows of the ceiling. “So, what happens next?”

______________________________________________________________

ART CORNER:

-[@hulderhearth on Tumblr drew THIS amazing art for the “bodice ripper” moment in Chapter 15](https://hulderhearth.tumblr.com/post/643975261035085824/an-adorable-moment-from-chapter-15of) (it is 100% SFW, just adorable and goofy), and I wanted to make sure everyone got to see it because it made me weep gay tears of joy. If you are on Tumblr, please like and reblog! His art is too good to sleep on. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR’S NOTES:  
> -I’ve been so sick for the last week and a half that I almost wasn’t going to post anything this week, but I really didn’t want to leave y’all dangling on that cliffhanger. Soooo… here’s another cliffhanger I guess? Oops.  
> -You KNOW I had to write more of that loveable bastard, Scarlet.  
> -I was kind of mentally debating between whether Penny would have a Smart Car or a ridiculously massive fuckall Hummer, but in the end the environmentally conscious option won out. I feel like Penny would be all about reducing her carbon footprint. There never was any question what color it would be though— apple green, naturally.  
> -Ruby lives quite happily in the realm of plausible deniability.  
> -Qrow is real big on irony, though the boxing gym is kind of a mix of tongue-in-cheek and sincere. It was his Lucky Shot, it gave him a way to get out of the self-destructive cycle he had been trapped in since his teenage years. I have many many sad bird man feels, and you’d better believe there’s a fic in that.  
> -Yeah, just some regular, everyday Yangst. I really wanted to reassure all of you last week, as there was generalized terror over the casual Chekov’s Gun that Yang rode off on. Honestly, I wasn’t intending for it to be so distressing, but I also couldn’t break the dramatic tension. To clarify, so that I’m not building up a potential narrative that will leave you biting your nails for the rest of the fic— in this AU, Yang’s “losing her arm” moment has already happened. The bike crash pulverized it, and she had to relearn how to use the rebuilt limb. I don’t want the lingering concern about the possible canonical catastrophe to build up a false sense of dramatic tension. Just the normal dramatic tension of two idiots mashing their feelings together and asking “are we doing this right?”  
> -Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU to everyone who reads this fic and comments on it. Your kind words have kept me going in the face of a lot of daunting shit. I can’t thank all of you individually (please know that I adore each and every person who reads this novel-length monstrosity, regardless of comments/kudos/bookmarks), but I wanted to express deep appreciation to several of you who have been commenting and supporting this fic since the beginning: @Archer78, @AmericanWildDog, @stinkyrat, @DieWeisseRose, @Ashley1502, @Drumstyx, @islandofmisfittoys, @Istariel, @erros429, and, of course, @SpoopsBoops. I can’t believe that we’ve made it this far— thank you all from the bottom of my heart!  
> -Adding because, as Spoops pointed out, not everyone knows tailoring jargon: the armscye is the seam where a sleeve is joined to the body of a garment. Sorry about that.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Kids are Not Alright (but they will be)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RECOMMENDED LISTENING:  
> -“A Shared Silence”, La Verite  
> -“Sick of Losing Soulmates”, dodie
> 
> This is another chapter where I can’t overemphasize how well the playlist pairs with the story, and how well it transitions between songs. For the full multi-media experience, start listening at “Mother and Father” and read with it playing in the background. The conversation between the two piano melodies in “A Shared Silence” just gives me the good good tinglies.

Listen to the Spotify playlist (curated by the author’s wife, @spoopsboops) [HERE](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0NAkxw0y9KBjkbqX3Yum36?si=F0JnjDVrSoG3dLea7EAGbQ).

Follow on Tumblr and Instagram @probably_momo, for art and writing updates.

______________________________________________________________

_Cause I'm sick of losing soulmates_

_So where do we begin?_

_I can finally see you're as fucked up as me_

_So how do we win?_

_Yeah, I'm sick of losing soulmates_

_Won't be alone again_

_I can finally see you're as fucked up as me_

_So how do we win?_

-Dodie, “Sick of Losing Soulmates”

______________________________________________________________

Instinct and muscle memory got Yang to the Lucky Shot in one piece. Physically at least— her heart and her brain were shattered into a million myriad pieces, jagged and hanging in the stratosphere, loosely tethered to her godsdamned weak, miserable body. She let her bike fall quiet but stayed astride, her fingers clenched in a death grip on the handlebars, breathing heavily in the claustrophobic confines of her helmet. She was lightheaded, but it wasn’t just from the mingling of her breath and her sweat.

“Hey there firecracker. Wanna come inside?” Qrow leaned in the open door of the gym, an unlit cigarette dangling in the fingers of his left hand and a mug of coffee in his right. He looked hungover, but he’d looked hungover for as long as Yang could remember. Qrow somehow accomplished this perpetually exhausted and slightly disgruntled level of dishevelment, in spite of the five year coin he always had in his back pocket.

She pulled her helmet off with hands that shook, though she did her best to suppress the clamouring chaos in her mind and her stomach. Yang must have looked about as awful as she felt, because, when he caught sight of her face, Qrow’s eyebrows shot to his hairline and actual concern broke through his world-weary visage. In two strides of his long legs he was beside her, accepting the helmet as she clumsily dismounted.

“I’ve got some coffee on. It’s from yesterday, or maybe Saturday, but it’s hot.”

“I don’t need— I mean, thank you. But I don’t think coffee would be a good idea right now.”

Her uncle watched her, expression guardedly concerned, as she struggled out of her boots and dropped them behind the door. The gym was quiet, which wasn’t unusual. Qrow wasn’t the kind of person to fill his solitude with noise. He listened to music to listen to music, or when the situation called for it. When working out on his own or doing paperwork in his office silence rained golden. If he was sparring with Yang, Tai, or Ruby the playlist was punk rock, and he had a very well curated selection of pop EDM (provided by Ruby) for his boxercise and self-defense classes.

The silence was a welcome refuge from the world, which was too much and too loud and too rapid to contend with. No barriers remained to protect her from becoming overwhelmed. Yang shuffled to the darkest corner of the room and slid down the wall to sit heavily on the canvas mat. 

Qrow deposited her helmet by her boots, then continued to consider her, his burgundy eyes enigmatic. 

“What are you staring at?” It was petulant and childish, but she wasn’t feeling like being polite. At least Qrow was related to her and _had_ to love her, even if she was a total dick.

Not that her record with blood relations was all that reliable. Fuck, how depressing was that?

“I’m trying to decide if you need me to give you a ‘buckle up buttercup’ speech, or an ‘it’ll get better’ speech. And you know me, I hate speeches.” He melted gracefully down to a cross-legged position facing her, barely a slosh to his mug of coffee as he met the floor. He yelled at anyone who even thought about bringing food or anything besides water onto his precious, expensive canvas mats. Apparently he excluded himself from this ban, based on his confidence in his own grace and ability not to spill shit. He sipped his godsawful ancient coffee with all appearances of enjoyment. “I know we’d both rather punch things than talk about our feelings any day of the week.”

The laugh that escaped her sounded hollow, like the death-rattle of happiness. 

“Well that’s not reassuring. Usually when you’re upset you come crashing in here like a hurricane, commandeer my sound system to play some truly terrible nu-goth music, and shadow box until you can’t stand anymore. I don’t know what to do with this limp and unresponsive niece.” 

“Can we pretend that either of us has the ability to communicate in some way other than sarcasm?”

“Ah, she speaks.” Biting back whatever follow-up one liner was on the tip of his tongue, Qrow took a beat and came back with a much quieter, much more sincere tone. “Okay kid. Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“...I don’t know if I can?” A shaky inhale and equally unsteady exhale. “I think I really fucked up. I don’t know if I can fix it, and the thought of not being able to fix it is—“ Yang’s voice caught in her throat and she had to swallow down a choked sob.

“Did anyone die?”

“What? No, of course not, I just—“

“In my extensive experience,” He smiled sympathetically, reducing the cynicism in his voice with the sincerity in his expression, “If no one died, there’s always something you can do to move forward.”

“That’s easy for you to say.”

“No. It isn’t.” She had never seen her uncle so serious, and the momentary flash of bleak memory that tensed his brows and drew his gaze out distant unsettled her. Then he was back to the present, meeting her gaze with the weight of honest grief.

 _What don’t I know about you?_ She wanted to ask, but she didn’t feel like she had the right. He would tell her, she reasoned, if he could. There was so much she couldn’t tell him, or anyone else.

Out on the street a car door slammed. Qrow was on his feet in a moment, gazing out the glass of the front door. 

“It’s Ruby and another girl, a brunette, in a ridiculous green clown car. Want me to tell them to fuck off?”

Could it be that easy? She half wanted to say yes, to be left alone with her self-loathing and fear. But the louder part of her screamed in feral joy that Blake had come. Blake, who had no obligation to be here, who logically should have just left Yang to her own destructive inclinations, had followed her. The fact that Ruby was here too explained how she had found Yang so quickly, but she spared a thought to the brutal interrogation she would be subjected to next time Ruby saw her. 

“No, just… Could you keep Ruby distracted? It’ll be easier to talk if she’s not in here.”

“You and I need to talk a bit after this. I’m realizing you haven’t been keeping dear old Uncle Qrow in the loop about some things.” He grinned at her, the spark of lazy mischief back in his eyes. “Don’t worry, I’ll run interference with your sister.”

He sloped towards the door, opening it and immediately stepping back to hold it open. “Oop, sorry about that.”

The source of Yang’s ecstasy and anguish stepped carefully through the door, looking at Qrow with a degree of distrust and uncertainty. She looked so small in comparison to Qrow’s lanky frame, her shoulders rounded forward defensively and her expression closed off.

“I’ll be right outside if you need me, firecracker.” Then he disappeared out the door, leaving Blake and Yang alone together in the dark gym.

Yang rested her forehead on her knees, hating the weakness and fear that made looking at Blake next to impossible. She listened to the distant sounds of Blake removing her shoes, then the whisper-soft padding of stocking feet crossing the canvas. A pause.

“Yang? Can I come closer?”

She needed to reply. She forced herself to nod, still averting her gaze. The familiarity of the words was not lost on her. One breakdown each, if anyone was keeping score at home.

Near-silent steps approached and she felt as the mat beneath her dimpled slightly with newly added weight. When Blake sank down next to her Yang was struck by the familiar wave of Blake’s unseen presence, the smell of her, the energy that exuded from her body like a static field. It was so intimate, and Yang wanted to run screaming down the street or fall to the floor, prostrate, begging for forgiveness she did not deserve.

“I don’t think I can do this. I’m scared.” She hadn’t meant to say anything, but there was nothing she could do to stop the words as they escaped her lips. They burned in the air of the still room.

“Me too. So, what happens next?”

Next. There was a next. It didn’t have to be a good next but the fact that _next_ existed as a remote possibility made her heart leap to her throat with the poison of hope. 

_Breathe. Breathe. Don’t break and fuck up again and prove that you never ever should have been trusted with the fragile, exquisite thing that was true human emotion..._

“To be honest, I’ve never actually gotten past this part. I usually ruin things so well that anything else is just out of the question— or it never was on the table to begin with. So, uhm, your guess is as good as mine.”

Blake was close enough that Yang could almost believe she felt the gust of her breath, not a sigh but the sound of taxed lungs releasing closely guarded air. “I’m still not sure what happened back there. I don’t think it was about the dress, or even about what I said. About therapy.”

She couldn’t respond. The words simply did not exist. The organic darkness of the backs of her eyelids was no defense against the images that flashed through her mind’s eye like a poorly animated film. The ripped cuff and hours of work crumbling away beneath her fingers. The look of shock and anger and _fear_ in Blake’s eyes when Yang snapped. She felt it like lead shot to the chest, shattering her ribs and crushing her lungs and pulverizing her heart. 

“I don’t want to be another person who hurts you. And I’m so fucking scared that I won’t be able to control this monster inside of me and you’ll see just how fucked up and broken I am. That you’ll be the collateral damage of my personal demons.” She pressed the heels of her palms against her eyelids, sending fireworks dancing through the darkness. Words were the bane of her existence, but words were the only thing sustaining this terrifying shadow of a second chance. “I haven’t changed since the accident, I’ve just gotten better at pretending. Pretending that I’m happy, pretending that I’m confident, pretending that I’m functioning. I don’t know what it is about you that makes it impossible to pretend. I can’t even try. You don’t deserve this, Blake. You deserve the whole godsdamned world, the shattered moon, the fucking cosmos. The very least of what you deserve is to have someone who has their shit together, not a lit-fuse powder keg with nice biceps.”

The pause after this monologue was long enough that Yang’s curiosity overwhelmed her self-recrimination and she peeked between her fingers to gauge Blake’s response. Blake’s gaze was caught in the middle distance, and she worried at her lower lip with her teeth. Her talented hands hung limp in her lap. The break in words started to stray into the realm of awkwardness and Yang began to think about finding something more to say, when Blake finally spoke.

“First of all, fuck you for thinking you have the ability to decide what I deserve. I’m not even close to having my shit together Yang, but what I do have is the ability to recognize when something is just too damn big for me to handle on my own. I didn’t start with therapy because I was strong or capable— I started therapy because I either went of my own free will or they put me somewhere where I had no choice in it at all. I hated the therapists I got saddled with. Half of them thought I was looking for a ‘replacement father figure’, the other half preferred to medicate me rather than work with me. When I moved here the only way I could keep my mom from flying across two continents to drag me home by my ear was to prove that I was still going to therapy. I found Hazel, and all I can say about that is thank the fucking gods, because he was willing to actually listen, work through the stuff that blocked my progress and balance out medications with me until I felt almost normal.”

Yang was stunned, silent. When medication had been brought up in the past, back at the beginning when she woke up every night screaming and clawing at her own skin, she had rejected it as further evidence that she was ruined beyond repair. Hearing Blake talk about it like it was a normal part of life made her feel like her reality had jumped from one groove to a similar, parallel one. 

The shift in Yang’s attention was not lost on Blake. The other woman pushed away from the wall and moved so that she was sitting directly in front of Yang, giving her no option but to look at Blake or close her eyes again. And that felt too much like flat-out admitting defeat, which was entirely against Yang’s temperament. Driving this home, Blake reached one careful hand out and lifted Yang’s chin to meet her gaze. Blake’s eyes were red and swollen, but that did nothing to dull the stunning beauty of the deep gold and the dark softness of her eyelashes. 

“I’m not giving up on you, Yang, and to hell with whatever well-reasoned argument you might have to try and convince me to get the fuck out while I’m ahead. I haven’t been ahead since I was fifteen, but for some godsdamned reason when I’m with you I feel like it’s not about the destination, it’s the whole damn journey. I can’t fix you. I won’t insult you or my own boundaries by trying. You need someone who can bleed the poison out of these old wounds without letting that poison find its way back in.” 

A swipe of the pad of a calloused thumb against Yang’s damp cheek— when had she started crying?— then Blake pulled away. Yang chased the sensation of her touch even as Blake stood up, out of reach. She held something small out to Yang, which Yang accepted with numb indifference. It was hard-edged and familiar. Her scroll, she realized. She hadn’t even noticed it was gone.

Standing up straight in front of Yang, Blake was transported from the mundane to the heavenly. The glow from the windows behind her cast an unearthly halo around her form, bleeding her edges out into the air. 

“This isn’t me leaving. This is me telling you to take some time, to create your own equilibrium. Then come back and find me—you know my number.”

Then she was gone, leaving sun-spots dancing through Yang’s vision.

______________________________________________________________

From Ruby, Qrow learned that Yang was totally dating that girl though neither of them would get the guts up to admit it, Yang had put her foot in it in a big way that wasn’t super clear, and oh by the way the girl’s name was Blake. Linear storytelling had never been Ruby’s strong suit, but what she lacked in narrative continuity she made up for in animation and description. Qrow didn’t need to distract Ruby, he just needed to provide the bare minimum of active listening to keep her ranting quite happily until the end of time.

“—And OH MY GODS you should have seen them the other week at Jaune’s party, they were all over each other and making googoo eyes and everything. It was even worse than, oh yeah the first time they hung out was at the trivia finals, Blake helped them beat us which was totally cheating. Anyway— oh, hi Blake!”

There were fresh tears on the brunette’s cheeks, but she also looked like a massive weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She met Qrow’s eye with a shaky, self-possessed smile. “Want to introduce me to your uncle, Ruby?”

“What? Why? You already know each other’s names, that doesn’t make any sense.”

Ignoring his niece's lack of social nicety, Qrow extended his hand to Blake. “Hi, I’m Qrow. Unfortunately, I’m related to these two assholes.”

“Hi, I’m Blake.” She shook the offered hand firmly, and he had a moment to appreciate the steel in her gaze. 

“Did you leave Yang in one piece?”

“I didn’t break anything that isn’t repairable. We… worked it out.”

“Good.” This woman was a portrait in contradictions, strong spine and gentle eyes, sharp mind and soft heart. He could empathize. “I’ll go peel her off the floor and make her eat something. Have a nice evening, you two.” 

Yang was in the same spot he had left her, though her long legs were now stretched out in front of her rather than tucked up against her chest like a shield. Her whole demeanor had shifted, unfurling in the aftershocks of stress and anxiety. She looked up as he kicked off his flipflops and crossed over to her. 

“...Are you coming to rub my face in my own idiocy?”

“Surprisingly, not even a little bit.” He held out a hand which, after a moment, she accepted, allowing him to tug her to her unsteady feet. She hugged herself, looking battered and small in spite of her height. His heartstrings lurched and a very similar scene, a decade before, sprung to his mind. Yang, twelve and lost and alone, catching the city bus to his old apartment to curl up on the couch next to him and watch him play Legend of Mana. He never had to ask her why she was skipping out of school, paying from her piggybank to ride across town. He knew. 

“I’m going to ask you to do a couple of things before you leave, and you are not going to argue with me. First, you really need to get some calories in you, you’re shaking like a leaf.”

Opening her mouth to contradict him, Yang considered the severity of his gaze and thought better of it. She padded after him as he led the way back to the office. Theoretically, he had a small room back behind the gym that was his personal living space, but he only went there to sleep, and that only rarely. The couch in the office was ancient and well broken in, and it was a hell of a lot more comfortable than the hard mattress in his room. Yang sank into it, pulling her legs up to sit cross-legged and huddling against the arm like she was sheltering from a storm.

He rattled around the room, pulling a foil-wrapped plate from the mini fridge, sniffing it, then thinking better of it and putting it back in. It vaguely resembled the stir-fried noodles he’d ordered the week before, but the evolutionary process it had taken since then definitely put it more in the realm of a science project than a snack. Canned soup it was then. 

He knew Yang was watching him, but he also knew she wasn’t really seeing him. She was lost in her own shattered world, and all that he could do was wait until she resurfaced again. Food would help. It would remind her that she had a body that still maintained base function, despite her momentary separation from it.

The can of soup, cream of whatever, glopped into his lone small saucepan, then was joined by a can full of water from the sink in the corner. He popped it onto his hot plate and gave it a few good stirs to more evenly distribute the chunks, before leaving it to its own devices. 

Dinner in progress, Qrow snagged his office chair and pulled it around so that he could sit in it facing his niece. Before he sat down he opened one of the side drawers in his desk, shuffling around until he came across a slightly crumpled bit of cardstock. Quarry in hand, he plopped into the chair and held the business card out to Yang.

She blinked at him, the confusion on her face a welcome change to the dead blankness a moment before. She reached out tentatively to accept it, like the paper might leap forward and bite her. “What the fuck is this then?”

He snorted, leaning back in his chair. “That should be obvious. It’s a business card.”

“Well yeah, but why?”

His expression and tone allowed for no nonsense— it was the same tone he used when his kids' classes got too rowdy, or someone was doing something wrong and might hurt themself or others. “This is the other thing you are not going to argue with me on. Before you leave here tonight, you are going to call the number on that card.”

Yang’s mouth stretched into a thin, unhappy line. “Who am I calling?”

“Her name is Fiona Thyme. She’s my sponsor’s wife, and she is a licensed therapist. She’s also one of the few people I have ever met that I trusted from the moment we were introduced.”

“Qrow, I don’t—“

“No. This is my condition for you leaving here tonight. Otherwise I’m driving you to your dad’s and you can stay there until I think you’re not going to do something stupid.” He watched the wave of hurt, betrayal, then miserable acceptance play across Yang’s features, and his chest felt tight. “There are times that are turning points in our lives. Where things can go really wrong, or really right. I think this is one of those times.”

He got up, leaving her to her thoughts. The soup was starting to simmer, and he stirred it to make sure it wasn’t burning to the bottom of the pan. He didn’t have any bowls, and he would have normally just eaten the soup out of the saucepan, but company required some decree of decorum. He carefully portioned the hot liquid into two of his largest coffee mugs. He carefully offered the one with “Viva Shade!” and a buxom lady printed on the side to Yang, handle first. His mug was hand painted with a stick figure with far too many fingers throwing another stick figure through the air. It was a gift from one of his students, and he had been told it was a drawing of “Qrow-sensei fighting bad guys”. It was a prized possession. 

Yang sipped at her soup, turning the battered card over and over between her fingers. When the mug was empty she set it on the ground, then pulled her scroll out of her pocket and slid the screen open. She paused, glancing up at Qrow with a touch of irritation mixed with reluctant fondness. “Can I at least do this in private?”

With a crooked smile, Qrow stood. He snagged the pack of cigarettes and his lighter off the corner of his desk and then, throwing her a lazy salute, he left Yang to take the plunge into the realm of her own insecurities.

Outside, he smoked and watched the streetlights blink on down the block. He thought about the people and choices that had brought him here to this exact moment in time, all of the pain and tears and blood and hardship. And he realized that, if he could, he would do it all again, every last horrible moment, if it meant he could be the person who offered the hand necessary to pull his niece from the darkness.

Love was a funny thing. Family, friends, soulmates, everything in between. It hurt like hell, but what was life without it?

______________________________________________________________  
ART CORNER:

-@hulderhearth on Tumblr finished [this absolutely gorgeous illustration](https://probably-momo.tumblr.com/post/645053638193168384/hulderhearth-a-scene-from-chapter-6-of) from the first kiss in Chapter 6. I am so blown away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR’S NOTES:  
> -A coin is a pretty common token among sobriety groups (at least here in the USofA, I’m sure other places do it differently). The timeline for this AU is rather cannon-divergent, and I will definitely need to lay it out in a more comprehensive manner at some point.  
> -Tai teased him about teaching boxercise until Qrow had him spar against Violet, a piano teacher in her fifties, who kept up with Tai in speed, agility, and endurance.  
> -Canvas tatami is an absolute dream to practice on, but it’s a bitch and a half to clean. Blood stains in particular are quite difficult to remove.  
> -Yang: *repeatedly hitting herself in the head with a 2x4* ouch why does this hurt so much if only there was some way to stop this  
> Blake: I’ve been drinking a lot of tea. The tea is just my tears. OH GODS.  
> -Yeah, I really had to parallel the chin-tilt from episode 10. Also, JUSTICE FOR TALL YANG. We’ve always known she was a glamazon, and we’ve finally gotten solid proof.  
> -Robyn is Qrow’s sobriety sponsor, and of course she’s married to Fiona.  
> -Ya’ll. I just. I can’t even. 10k hits! Thank you so much! I’m dying a little bit inside, I’m so happy you have come along with me on this crazy ride! We’ve got a ways to go get, but we’re almost in the home stretch!


End file.
